Emeralds
by Cavallo Alato
Summary: "May the stars crown you with emeralds, and the sea wash upon a herd of sapphire horses." If prayer of good luck brings the death of a queen, the departure of Hurricane's Second Prince and First Princess, a distant royal heir, what does it leave the fourth child with? Small and lost, her mother's will in her hands, is this Mariko's "emerald"? Her answer - a stoic, heartless Senju.
1. Hurricane

Hello, hello! What is this? A story with a _plot_?! Terrifying... =3=

I shall tackle it with as much energy as Hashirama, our newly revealed "Original Legendary Sucker"!

Yes, Tsunade, believe it or not, your grandfather was THAT MAN.

In any case, I've finally started Mariko's story. If you like reading OCs in a world that looks little like Naruto until _much_ later, I hope you'll consider this :). Check my deviantART for Mariko's history and pictures of her, if you'd like. (My profile page).

This was originally going to be longer, and it _is_ longer, because I'm still writing, but I figured: Hey, why not get started?

**Disclaimers: **I don't own Naruto, but Mariko, her siblings/family, the island of Hurricane (except for maybe the random island on the Shinobi World Map I designated as its location) are mine. Mushy, overused love stories are not mine either, but I love them to bits. I also hope this is somewhat unique...(I'm wayyy too into the Graceling series now, and they may have rubbed off on me...)

Enjoy ~ Tell me how it is.

* * *

**Chapter 1: ****Hurricane**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma, _

_ It was unusually cold today. Also, Ice Harbor had trouble docking boats because of the ice, ironically…Besides that, everyone's mad at me. It's because I don't like the lessons, so I skip them. Is it wrong for me to want to ride to relieve stress? Katrina is the island's strongest horse, and no one else knows, but I think she is a kunoichi at heart…_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Winter bit the start of the year's second month viciously, taking the island country of Hurricane by storm within its deadly maw, throwing hail and sleet for days. Ice Harbor, Hurricane's largest transit port, and the one closest to the coast of the Fire Country, was having quite the time shaving ice off the decks of ships and showering salt on the walkways to reduce iciness. The spattering of rare Hurricane shinobi here and there bundled up and did their best to carefully melt the frozen loading docks, and it was not uncommon to see a sailor's feet slip from beneath him and send him sliding down path.

Shipments, however, still made their ways in and out. Ice was not a fearful enemy on the tough little island, even in such extreme cases. Far inland, Esmeralda, capital of Hurricane, fared better than the poor coastline towns. Citizens huddled round fires, warming their hands and preparing the night's dinner, occasionally glancing out their windows to catch a glimpse of one of the glass towers belonging to Emerald Palace, the gleaming castle of the Royal family, shining through even the darkest of weathers.

Tucked away, comforted by the warmth of equine companions and the smell of oats and hay, a little blunette ran a brush over her horse.

"Hurricane's Lament," she said absently, leaning over to pick one of the horse's hooves. The mare obediently lifted her front leg so that the girl could scrape out the dirt embedded within the ivory. "Have you heard it, Katrina?"

The girl didn't expect an answer, though the horse whickered gently, dark mane falling in her eyes.

"It's a sad song," the girl informed the horse. "They play it at funerals."

The dapple-mare eyed her owner with something along the lines of boredom and curiosity as to whether or not any of the pockets on that jacket had treats. The girl rubbed her horse's nose fondly, and fished a bag of carrots she'd snatched from the kitchen when she could. The low crunch of the mare as she lipped the baby carrots up was comforting, and the girl had been about to dig out a few last treats from her pocket when the stable door slammed open, and a gust of freezing wind burst in. The horses, spooked, jostled in their stalls, a few of them nickering nervously.

"Mariko!"

The figure that slid the door close, more gently this time, was practically frozen, hood dripping and gloved hands wringing furiously.

"Hey, nii-chan." The girl resumed her treat giving, petting the mare on the cheek before letting herself out of the stall. There was silence, save the gentle clink of the gate's lock, but the girl could not help but feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle with the heat of her older brother's glare.

"Mariko, do you know how _pissed_ Dad is?"

"No, I don't," Mariko replied nonchalantly, pushing Katrina's muzzle away when the equine nudged her for more carrots.

"Seriously, you really need to stop skipping lessons. Sooner or later, he's going to sell that horse because you're so stubborn."

"He can go ahead and try." Mariko spun on her brother then, angrily. She brushed past him and made for the tack room to grab her coat and hat.

"Mariko, we're trying to _help_ you. Do you know what lengths Ryo has gone through for you? How much he's trying to convince Dad that you don't need an arranged marriage, like the rest of us?" He looked exasperated, the boy did. He had matching sapphire hair, which was sopping wet at the corners, causing him to shiver as the snow on his hood melted onto his head and shoulders. A boy of twenty years, a birthday just passed, with the burden of the country's men on his shoulders. The younger brother to the royal heir, who shared the same fate as the rest of them.

"I know," Mariko replied softly, tugging her hat on. It was a fuzzy green thing, warm and cozy, a gift that her mother had made herself, with a cute, fluffy bobble at the top. "I know you're trying hard, but _I'm_ trying hard too."

"You're not thinking of anyone but yourself," spat her older brother.

"Shut up, Katsurou!"

Mariko tried pushing past him again, when he barred the stable entrance. After a few moments, a pained expression on his face, he relented and allowed her to pass.

"Don't blame me when Ryo and Sumi complain," he called after her. "It's all because you don't listen!"

The roar of the storm drowned him out.

* * *

First Prince Ryouichi of Hurricane, eternally buried in the paperwork he shared with his father. Heir to Hurricane and successor of his father, he never lacked in the skills needed to become a fine leader. He did, however, lack the peace of mind needed to comprehend matters fully. After all, within three weeks of a terrible passing, he had overtaken all of the duties left by his newly deceased mother.

Second Prince Katsurou of Hurricane, most commonly seen as an archer in the hunting fields, astride a powerful black stallion, eyes narrowed in sharp concentration. Nowadays, however, one could find him just as easily beside his older brother, scrambling to understand the politics of the world.

First Princess Sumiko of Hurricane, fiery, independent, and vehemently opposing her upcoming arranged marriage. The Aokami women were notoriously stubborn, but this never stopped their father from ruling his country as he liked. Sumiko, however, was just as firm in her ways, and was not about to marry the portly, pig-like governor of a Hot Springs capital city.

Second Princess Mariko, fourth child to the throne, and by far the youngest. Even so, she held a stubbornness comparable to that of her sister, and was not afraid to silently object her father's rulings. Too shy to speak, too small to stand out, all she ever did was run. She was always running to the stables, where the gentle lull of barn noises calmed her frayed nerves. She claimed, to herself, that it was her way of defying her father, but really, what kind of defiance was that?

It was cowardice.

* * *

"Mariko, can you hand me that red book there? Yes, that big leather one, with multiple volumes tied—yep, that one."

At fourteen, Mariko was short for her age. Her siblings were of good height, Sumiko tall and elegant enough to be a model, Ryouichi of a slim, prince-like standard, and Katsurou with the strong, towering build of an athlete and a warrior. Mariko, however, was dwarfed by them all, for she had yet to reach Sumiko's chin.

"Ryo, why are you reading all these?" Mariko asked, unceremoniously plopping herself down beside her brother.

"Ah," he said. He paused then, brushing his blue hair out of his face, pushing his smart-looking glasses up his nose. Mariko had the notion that he'd restrained from mentioning their mother, and instead, diverted the topic. "Father said that this has to do with the current issue regarding…Iwagakure."

"Why do we deal with shinobi nations when we aren't one?"

"Because they're the majority of the world, and valuable allies. Say we allied with Iwagakure — in the case of a sudden, unexpected conflict with nearby Kirigakure, we would have a strong nation to back us up. Plus, our commerce and resources are invaluable to them."

Mariko didn't like it, but she knew he was simplifying the real matters down for her. Ryouichi was not the type to go into specifics, especially not with her.

"What if I told you I wanted to learn about Hurricane and all the shinobi countries?" she asked, out of curiosity. Her brother, a good eight years older than her, took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Mariko always felt as if she was a burden, and that she was constantly tiring him. She hadn't spent any time with him outside this office since she was ten years old. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

Ryouichi spared her a glance, half exasperated, and maybe half sardonic. It was nice to see a smile, even if it was a small, tightlipped one.

"Then, Mari, you'd have to stop skipping your lessons and running to the stables."

All at once, it was a joke and a message, and Mariko heard it in his tone, painfully clear:

_You're causing us trouble._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Yesterday was my fifteenth birthday. Dad didn't remember, of course._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

While the busy King Hiroto of Hurricane may have forgotten that his fourth daughter turned fifteen that day, all of her siblings remembered. They always remembered one another's birthdays.

_I'm sorry I couldn't send more, but trading wars and pirates are making things tough here. Oh, and my cat tried chewing on it, so you're super lucky I caught that silly animal before all my hard work was ripped to shreds. I know what you're thinking: "What hard work, Katsurou?" I hope you like it, though. Lots of love, Katsurou. Ps. My lovely wife sends her regards. ;)_

It was the middle of summer, the seventh day of the seventh month, a stark contrast to the harsh winter six months prior. The sun shone brilliantly, reflecting off the glass of the palace, lighting the gorgeous gardens of the capital. Esmeralda was filled with little waterfalls here and there, beautiful scenery that was treasured among the people. While Hurricane was a major rare stone producer, they cherished their natural landscape greatly, and so any harm done to the little falls and rivers was disapproved.

The greatest waterfall, Blue Horse, thundered lightly behind the palace, a rushing corner of the water visible from Mariko's own room. Sitting at the wide window, the bench before the glass pane warm from the sun, Mariko opened the gift that her brother had sent her. A new saddle blanket, made of the finest Frost Country silk. Was the Frost known for their silk? Mariko couldn't quite remember, even though she'd resumed her unbearably dull lessons.

It was a pretty thing, a baby blue, embroidered saddle pad, lightweight for the summer, with the Aokami clan crest —the image of a cut jewel— sewn onto a corner. And, it was a horse-related item, so it seemed natural that Mariko took an immediate liking to it. Of course, Katsurou had to mention his "lovely wife", a spark of a woman with plain brown hair but a flaming heart for adventure, also the Frost daimyo's upstart daughter. How fortunate the Second Prince had been, to actually fall in love with his arranged marriage, the perfect match between an enthusiastic boy and a bright woman. The words "my lovely wife" and "match made in heaven" were cues at the dinner table to tune out, most of the time when they came to Hurricane for a visit.

Next was a mysterious package from Sumiko, which Mariko pulled open eagerly.

_Hey little sis, I don't think you've seen much of Hot Springs culture, so here's a mask! I know, funky, right? Anyway, things here are so _yellow_! It's super weird. You should come visit, some time! You'll finally set foot on the mainland…bwahaha! By the way, do you know if Ryo's got a boyfriend yet? I heard he does…we'll annoy him about it the next time I come home, okay? Your big sis, Sumi-Sumi. Ps. The mask supposedly wards away bad spirits, is what I'm told._

The mask was bizarre to say the least. It was all red, with dark, pronounced brows and purpled cheeks and sharp, demonic teeth. It's grin was absolutely terrifying, with pronounced cheekbones and a sharp chin elongating the sharp cackle of the beast it represented. After a few minutes of curiously studying the sturdy material, she decided that it would look best outside the harness room door, to ward away burglars or something.

It had hardly been half a year, but in the blink of an eye, Katsurou and Sumiko had submitted to their fates as second and third children to the throne. Well, Katsurou's marriage turned out to be a happy decision, as if Lady Fate was charmed by the roguish sweep of his blue hair and his cocky smile, and had decided to allow him a "match made in heaven".

Sumiko, on the other hand, defied her father's decisions with all her might. She had not, in fact, married the pig-faced Hot Springs governor. Instead, somehow, she'd warped her path of betrothal by running away upon the announcement that she was to be married the next month. Secretly aided by a few certain Frost residents, she'd fled from Hurricane to hide away in plain sight — the Hot Springs Country. And, because Lady Fate was having a grand ball of a time with the Aokami family, Sumiko would run smack into the son of Hot Spring's daimyo, literally. Ironically, he too was trying to skirt an arranged marriage with a rather frightening, slightly obsessive noble girl to the southeast corner of the nation, by the coast. Continuing along this line, Sumiko's "fated love story", another dinnertime storytelling term, could, perhaps, put Katsurou's perfect match to shame. Both often bickered amiably about the luck that accompanied love, among other mushy subjects.

And so, a happy, even more beneficial marriage was decided upon. After the wedding, it had been nearly June, but Sumiko had managed to visit back at least five times. Her only complaint was that every time she came, she had to pass the mansion of that creepy woman her husband was supposed to be betrothed to, and the eyes of jealousy that burned in that woman's head were ferocious.

"It's sort of funny," Sumiko had mused during her last visit. "I wonder if she'll marry that fat governor now."

Now, Mariko sifted through the small bag to her final package. It was surprisingly heavy, a box the size of a dinner plate. The note was scribbled in Ryouichi's easily identifiable scrawl; anyone would know his handwriting in a heartbeat after simply observing him in office for a day — especially now that he was stuck there all the time.

_Dear baby sister, happy birthday! I'm sorry that father didn't think of you at all, and I know this is slightly late, but this was the fastest I could get my hands on it. It is a symbol of good luck and happiness, both of which I wish for you to have. If you'd like, come visit me in the office. I haven't gone riding in more than half a year, and I'm wondering if you have devised any particularly sneaky ways to get out? That's funny coming from me, isn't it? Anyway, happy birthday wishes to you, and may the stars crown you with emeralds. Love, Ryo._

"And let the sea wash upon a herd of sapphire horses," Mariko murmured, smiling at the traditional Hurricane verse. It was said at New Year's and at birthdays, to bring good health and fortune, happiness and love, while warding away all the darkness in the world through the protection of Hurricane's nature.

Peeling the silver wrapping paper open, Mariko found a heavy, black box. She opened it, and gasped, eyes widening.

An old horseshoe, aged but still gleaming, an antique treasure inlaid with emeralds and sapphires all along its length. The petite blunette turned it in her fingers wonderingly, beholding its sparkling glory. The horseshoe glittered like a star, reflecting the sun's rays proudly. A good luck charm, embodying both Hurricane's rare stones and its precious equine symbol.

This one would go on her bedroom door, close to her.

A gentle knock on that very door alighted her attention to another presence outside. She beckoned for them to enter, and that the door was unlocked. To her great surprise, her Aunt Tari stood at the threshold of the doorway, holding a small package to her chest. She was the spitting image of Mariko's late grandmother, and also the older sister of Mariko's mother, Manami.

"Auntie." Mariko smiled as her aunt embraced her gently, wrapping her warm, soft body around Mariko's. The woman smelled of bread and pie and cookies, as she always did, for she was, Mariko claimed, the greatest baker in the entire shinobi world.

"Happy birthday, little Mari." Tari leaned over and presented her niece with the small package, a tiny box that fit comfortably into Mariko's hand. Curious, Mariko opened the box carefully, and saw the glint of a clasp. Holding onto the little chain, she lifted a long, elegant necklace from the creamy fabric embedded into the box. At its end, a single, dazzling emerald, as green as her own eyes, and just as stunning as the horseshoe. Mariko's mouth formed a small "o" shape, open in a silent gasp. She recognized the necklace immediately.

"This was your mother's," Tari told her gently, though she knew full well the glint of recognition that lighted up in her niece's green eyes. "Your father nearly threw it into the palace safe, but I took it as quick as I could."

Before she could turn into a babbling mess of tears, Mariko threw her arms around her aunt and thanked her countless times. Tari patted the girl's back, drawing her into another hug.

"It would've belonged to you, anyway."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Sometimes I wonder if Katrina is really a kunoichi in disguise. Is it possible for an animal to be a ninja, too? What if she could walk on water? I've always wondered what it would be like to be a shinobi, like all those people in the shinobi villages. Why is it that we don't learn ninjutsu? The Aokami are graced with the Hyoton, right? Isn't an Ice Kekkei Genkai a precious ability, a powerful weapon and arsenal for Hurricane?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The only one to ever try mastering ninja techniques was Katsurou. With his natural athletic ability and unsurpassable archery skills, he had a tendency to become interested in the ways of shinobi. After out-shooting the reigning archery champion of Takigakure, Katsurou had taken an interest in learning jutsu. Their father, the king, was adept at many water, wind, and ice style techniques, but he seemed unwilling to keep the pattern going. He had long since deemed that his children would never use jutsu unless in times of emergency. All of them knew how to form water, wind, and ice, but had little idea how to put it to good use, deeming their father's claim pointless.

"There's power in this," Katsurou always said, often to himself. He would shape the ice into shield and swords, swinging deftly left and right. He would nimbly manipulate water and wind, shooting enemies with gusts and waves. Then, combining the two, he would string a heavy, ice arrow to his bow, and still shoot straighter than Konoha's best bowmen. Children's stories often included the great Prince Katsurou, whose arrow could fly as far as Uzushiogakure, for it sprouted wings and rode the wind like a bird.

Sumiko followed, somewhat, in that she learned to defend herself with the shaping of natural elements. Ryouichi was rather satisfied with his level, though all of his younger siblings knew he was hiding far more ability than he gave away. Finally, Mariko, who hardly ever practiced history, let alone jutsu, had little to no grasp over chakra molding and its use. She could hold a ball of water in her hand, make it float, change it to ice and back, but little more. At sixteen years of age, the most she'd been taught by then was how to shape ice into a menacing dagger and jab everywhere with it.

"Did you know, there are ranks of shinobi?" Katsurou said one day, upon a visit home from Frost.

"Ranks?" echoed Mariko, interest piqued. She paused her inefficient flailing with her ice blade, studying it.

"Yep. Genin are like the elementary kids, chuunin are middle class, teens to young adults, mostly — your age — and then jounin are the super skilled adults, and finally, the kage is the strongest ninja in the land."

"Are you the kage?"

Katsurou snorted at this, amused. "No way," he laughed, patting her leg. "Besides that, only the five shinobi nations have kage. Smaller countries like the Frost have ninjas and ninja ranks, but no officially recognized kage. They have a leader sure, but no Hokages or Raikages or Mizukages…"

"Hokage?"

"Yep. Each great nation has a name for their own village's kage. The Hokage is the leader of the Hidden Leaf."

"Is he strong?"

"Are you kidding?" Katsurou grinned, a familiar, toothy grin that always tilted up at one side. "He's the god of the shinobi world, the strongest of all time."

"Wow," murmured Mariko, wiping her fingers on her riding trousers, for the ice had melted between her fingers.

"He's of the legendary Senju clan," Katsurou continued. "And his younger brother is the greatest Suiton user in the world," he added, an admiring tone filling his voice. "What I do with forty seals, he can do with a single finger."

"How is that even possible? Don't you have to use seals to mold the chakra into the correct forms?" Mariko, with her very little skill at ninjutsu, needed several seals just to make a blob of water float.

"He's just so skilled like that," exclaimed Katsurou, a boyish delight crawling into his eyes. "And his older brother, the Hokage I mentioned, has the _Mokuton_."

"What's that?"

"He grows trees with his chakra, and compels the earth to move with just his eyes!"

"Okay, now you're just kidding around, that's not possible." Mariko rolled her eyes, and exchanged grins with her older brother.

"Someday, you'll arrive on the mainland and see all the amazing things there, Mari," Katsurou said, smiling. He was happy, and eager to show her a different world, but those words tugged at Mariko's heart slightly. It almost sounded as if his love for the mainland had nearly surpassed his own bonds to Hurricane. To Mariko, it was a bit sad, to see her brother and sister drift away like that.

It was also sad to see that they wanted to take her away, too.

* * *

**_x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Katrina is probably one of the biggest reasons I don't want to leave Hurricane. How would I bring her across the ocean? She wouldn't fare well on a boat. Besides that, I pray, holding your necklace every day, that I won't be sent away. I don't know if you can really hear me, Momma, or if your eyes in the emerald stars actually see these words, but please, please protect me. Dad is starting to make marriage arrangements, and I don't want to go anywhere. I'm not like Katsurou, I can't leave so easily. And I'm not like Sumi, I can't just waltz off the island in an open revolt. Why can't I stay on Hurricane, like Ryo?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Magic number seventeen. Seventeen, the age Ryouichi was pulled to his first High Court case, to witness the real inner dealings of Hurricane. It was also the day he saw his best friend die, because King Hiroto had deemed him the murderer of a High Court judge. The entire ruling was a blur, and Ryouichi tended not to, or refused to, remember exactly what had occurred that day. It had been exactly his birthday.

Seventeen, the age Ryouichi landed on the mainland, eyes wide and feet sinking into unfamiliar territory. The day he found that their mother had fallen sick again, but he wasn't allowed to return to Hurricane until he'd finished his job. His task, his terrible task; marriage. However, the only happy occurrence was the chance of real love, for a year later, he'd marched hand in hand with his newly betrothed back to Hurricane, to proudly introduce to his bedridden mother.

Seventeen, the age at which marriage negotiations for Sumiko had begun, rather disastrously, actually. Fights and spats, vicious slamming of doors, and hours of quiet sobbing accompanied Sumiko's rage. She visited the royal hospital often, spending entire afternoons beside their mother and Mariko, releasing her feelings to the two females in her company. Seventeen, the age when their mother died of her mysterious, unknown heart disease that stopped her bodily functions and passed her on rather peacefully. It had been a quiet passing, but the wail that rang out from the hospital was beyond heartbreaking. That year had seen a Frost country escort to Hurricane to hurry Sumiko out of the country, to a secluded village in Hot Springs where she mourned on her own until she met her current husband.

And finally, _seventeen_, seventeen for a girl who was supposed to follow in her sister's footsteps, but not. A girl who was supposed to be an obedient fourth child and nicely get along with her planned betrothed, no matter who it was. Because this time, King Hiroto was not taking "no" for an answer, and any impedance to his plans would be mercilessly crushed. This round was his round, and his youngest daughter was not about to ruin it.

Meek and tightlipped, Mariko could only hold her pride, lower lip trembling, tears threatening to spill over. But she had little pride to hold, for she was always the little princess of Hurricane, everyone's dear child, small and vulnerable. She could do little besides run. She couldn't efficiently deal with important matters, as did Ryouichi every day. She couldn't shoot an arrow to Whirlpool; she wouldn't smack a fly if she was ordered too. Mariko could hardly say "boo" to a mouse. She wasn't graceful or extravagantly beautiful, like Sumiko. Her limbs tangled, and she was none of Sumiko's long, gorgeous grace in both equestrianism and dance. She only found solace in her dapple-gray mare, Katrina, and the fact that her piano playing rivaled that of Ryoichi's violin skill.

During the times when she was banned from the stables, courtesy of a strict father in the beginnings of his plan to rein her in slowly, to be married off beneficially, Mariko was at the music room, fingers flying away from note to note. Ivory keys burned with the speed of her hands, the piano whirling through a furious, angry piece. Whatever her mood happened to be like, the piece would reflect it. On depressed days, when only her mother came to mind, a melancholy tune somewhat similar to Hurricane's Lament would find itself upon the piano's keys, ringing out from its depths. When she found herself rather cheerful, Mariko's fingers played delights after delights, bright pieces that made the sounds shine as bright as the sun. Never missing a beat, the piano was her comfort. When the wind wasn't running through her hair, the pounding of hooves beneath her, and the common speckled birds trilling freely, the piano became her mount, her fingers transforming into energy.

"Mariko."

A gentle voice, as gentle as the gliding notes of the piano. A voice that obviously belonged to Ryouichi, because hardly anyone else spoke to Mariko so softly nowadays. But his tone was not one of admiration, the way he spoke when they played duets together, Mariko with a brandishing chord on the piano, and Ryouichi with a light trill on his violin. His voice was heavy, almost pained, and all at once, she _knew_.

"What's up, Ryo?" she asked lightly, pretending that all was well. He glanced down, soft wisps of blue falling into his face. His always-slipping glasses inevitably slipped down his nose, and he habitually pushed them back up. Dark bags encircled his eyes, and his shoulders sagged from weary nights up. He wondered, _Would she know how hard I fought for her this time?_

"It's been decided," he replied flatly.

No.

_No_.

"Didn't I just have like, ten suitors yesterday?! How can it be decided?!" Mariko yelled, slamming her hands down on the piano's top. The instrument vibrated, and her books full of pieces clattered down with horrid clangs against the keys. Her outburst was quite frightening, but Ryouichi showed little reaction besides another heavy sigh.

"I tried, Mariko," he told her weakly. His voice nearly broke, and Mariko went quiet. "I'm sorry, baby sister."

He leaned against the doorframe, looking as if he would collapse.

"I really did," he insisted.

Tears sprang to Mariko's eyes, for she had never been grateful for her brother's work. She had never realized that the burden he'd taken on would steal so much from him. The little blunette strode forward and embraced her older brother, his lanky arms falling tiredly around her.

"I know, Ryo. Thank you."


	2. Stories

Chapter two! I can't believe it, background _and_ plot!

I'm learning guys, I'm learning...

**Disclaimer: **All Naruto characters belong to respective owners, presumably Kishimoto (the troll). Mariko and Hurricane, and everything related to Mariko and Hurricane, belong to me. :)

And if you couldn't tell already - yes, I am a horse person :'D

* * *

**Chapter 2:** **Stories**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ We had the autumn gala dinner tonight. Surprisingly enough, it was rather amusing. Did I mention that they have found the proper husband for me? I pray upon the emeralds and my ultra-thick face pastels that he's not some creepy old man. What if I have to marry some disgusting monster, like that one governor Sumi almost married?! Momma, I don't want to leave Hurricane, and I don't want to leave Katrina. I don't know where to go, though. I don't think I ever want to set foot on the mainland. That, and they haven't even told me his _name_. How am I supposed to get married to man whose name I don't know?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Hurricane was a bright, cultural nation with a society rich in customs and traditions. On formal occasions, men were to paint ochre-red dust on their temples, to signify that their minds were strong, even if their bodies were not. And for those who were young and healthy, the boys who grew tall into their widening shoulders, they added rings of that reddish powder to their forearms and biceps.

The women, as well, were to decorate themselves. They had a much more detailed process than the men, but it was all seen through carefully. White face paint was carefully layered onto one's features, making them as pale and as beautiful as the moon. Several personalized touches were added, depending on the person and her preferences. Everything was allowed, any color, except for anything on the nose or chin. For example, Sumiko wore dark eye shadow that branched out into purple wings along her temples, a creative, artsy sort of decoration. Her lips were always painted ruby red, and she often liked to add a green star on her forehead to match her eyes. The First Princess never failed to make a dashing entrance, anywhere, any time.

Mariko, on the other hand, didn't have much preference for anything. She copied her sister with the dark, owlish shadows around her eyes, and sometimes painted blue swirls down her cheeks. Sumiko complained that it looked as if Mariko's hair had plastered itself to her skin, so the youngest daughter sometimes changed that pretty sky-blue paint to a feminine pink. She was never bold enough to dry the daring streaks of gold, silver, and purple that Sumiko like to brush along her cheekbones.

Nose and chin markings were left for symbolization, traditional markings that told a story. A black triangle pointing downwards on the chin meant that a woman was recently widowed, and if that triangle was dark green, it meant the loss of a recent family member. An upward facing triangle, light green as grass, meant the birth of a new family member, a stark contrast to the black symbols of death. A green, rectangular bar across the nose meant that one was celebrating an anniversary or special occasion relating to a marriage or relationship. A gray bar represented divorce, sadly, while a blue one meant that a woman was newly married. Often, a light gray-silver tinged with pink sort of pastel was painted in streaks across the nose to signify the purity of a child, of a girl. Eventually, that misshapen slab of gray-pink paint would deepen to a ruby red rectangle, the crimson bar that labeled a woman as "engaged".

And, following this tradition, Mariko stiffly sat down for one of her cousins to paint the red bar across the bridge of her nose. The meek servant girl that accompanied the relative presented them with an array of paints, a palette full of colors to use, mix, or save for another time.

"Cousin Mari, I think you'd look dashing with gold on your face today," said the older girl quietly. She was related to Mariko on the mother's side, and thus her hair was not the stark sapphire of the Aokami clan. Sometimes, Mariko envied her cousins' plain, brown hair, sun-bleached a sandy beach color.

"You may paint my face however you like," Mariko replied. "I don't really care."

Her cousin hesitated, mouth opening to protest. She knew very well that Mariko actually took great care of her cultural pastels — she was very detailed, and very specific. She knew what colors symbolized what, and was always dedicated to creating a fitting appearance.

"As you wish, Cousin." While she was obviously not satisfied, Mariko's cousin knew enough of Mariko's personality to know that she wanted simple colors, nothing as dashing as her sister. Soft hues of purple, light touches of violet-red at the ends, to define her face. Nothing more, nothing less. Mariko hadn't agreed to the gold and silver, so the older girl didn't push anything upon her.

"Thank you," Mariko told her relative. The older girl nodded, patted Mariko's shoulder lightly, and rose from her seat. It was done.

Approximately an hour later, after Mariko watched visitor after visitor march proudly through the castle gates, the autumn gala would commence. She never had a list of guests, so she had to guess by appearance the origins of each person.

A man with slicked back hair and the strangest mustache, a nobleman of the Hozuki clan, judging by his clan crest, with his men.

A red-haired troupe unmistakably from Uzushiogakure, the Uzumaki clan.

A rather plain-looking entourage of men guarding a carriage, which rolled into view. Despite the grandness of it all, they lacked a banner of even a declaration of origin on the carriage. Mariko's only comment would've been a question to the logic of wearing one long, curtain of a sleeve, while the other arm was bare.

A few nearby island nobles she recognized, among a spattering of Hurricane lords and ladies.

Another carriage, this one emblazoned with the familiar crest of the Yuki clan, an old offshoot of the Aokami that shared their ice Kekkei Genkai. The dark-haired heads, long since overtaking the blue of the Aokami, peeked out from the carriage windows. A child's hand stretched out, and Mariko smiled; the clan leader had recently announced the first birthday of his first son.

One of the men from the Hozuki's group jogged back out to greet them. Presumably, they were all from Kirigakure. This man had blue hair as well, but it was not the same as Mariko's. The dullish, gray-navy hair color was dimmed even further in the presence of the Aokami's luxurious blue. Even King Hiroto, growing well into older age, had hair far more vibrant that that of Kirigakure citizens. It was almost as if the ocean near Hurricane was brighter than that of the Mist's.

Mariko eventually grew bored of watching guest after guest file into the palace. No one of particular interesting caught her eye, even though she was inwardly straining to find out who in the world her husband might be.

Perhaps he wasn't even here.

After mulling for a good half an hour, Sumiko knocked on the door.

"You ready, sis?" she asked. Mariko glanced over to see her vibrant older sister, gold hoops dangling from her ears, hair falling back in a natural, windswept style. Her lips were carefully filled in with a deep red, and her eyes were accented by gold and purple, as was her usual. The creamy beauty of the white paint only allowed her eyes to shine out more, lashes lush and long.

"Can't wait," deadpanned Mariko darkly.

"Won't be that bad," Sumiko assured her. Mariko bit back a retort when Sumiko added, "And don't worry, little sis, I found out that your future husband is not here."

Mariko wasn't sure whether she was relieved or distressed by that news. On one side, she was breathing a sigh of relief — all the tension stringing her shoulders and neck tightly were released — and at the same time, the other side of her was frustrated, and furiously so. When would she meet her husband?

Probably never.

_Though really_, she thought to herself,_ I have no intention whatsoever of getting married._

A plan was to be carried out beforehand, she deemed. Maybe not as bold as Sumiko, but clever nonetheless.

"You coming?" Sumiko exited, with a backwards glance at her little sister.

Mariko followed, a little more than anxious now to get it over with. She wanted to mull over her nonexistent plan some more, but the autumn gala took precedence. On their way down, Katsurou dropped in line with them silently as a fox, eyes rimmed with ochre-red dust. Ryouichi was at the door to the grand hall, greeting guest after guest with as much summoned gusto as humanly possible.

"Welcome, dearest siblings," he drawled in a moment of rare sarcasm and lightheartedness.

"Ah, yes, greetings to you too," quipped Sumiko lightly. She swept herself into an utterly graceful curtsy. Her dress, a flowing, layered piece of art emblazoned with the Hot Springs symbol on the corner of a flowing edge of hem, twirled about her. Mariko envied her sister; she no longer was bound to the tight, constricting garment that was the only part of Hurricane culture that she didn't quite love. It was a dress as well, but collared and tight, with jewels lining all the silk frills. The bodice was stiff and unforgiving, the skirt a flowing panel of silk that overlapped itself twice, and then ran elegantly to the floor. The outfit itself was befitting that of a queen, but Mariko felt everything but queenly.

"You're the last guests," Ryouichi had been saying prior to Mariko's uncomfortable fidgeting.

"We're not guests," deadpanned Katsurou. Everyone shot him an exasperated glance.

Upon entrance in the room, several of the guests dipped their heads, and among them, to Mariko's horror, were some of last week's suitors. Had Sumiko been wrong? What if her husband _was_ there?!

"Ah, Mr. Hozuki, my four lovely princes and princesses have arrived. Let me introduce each of them to you," the king proudly declared, his voice low and resounding within the great hall. "I'm sure you already know Prince Ryouichi."

"Of course," said the man with the funny mustache. His hair looked overly gelled, bobbed up and back in a strange fashion, accompanied by a ridiculously high collar. A dark triangle of a beard just made his face all the funkier, and Mariko didn't quite like it. The triangle reminded her far too much of their own traditions; the women's triangle of death.

"M'dear," he drawled, cold, blue eyes darting across the room to find each of them. At first, Mariko was afraid that the phrase was directed at her, but the Hozuki politely dipped his head at Sumiko and took her hand. He quickly lifted it to his lips, in a gesture of courtesy, before shaking hands with Katsurou. Despite this, the stiffening in Sumiko's spine was evident. Physical contact with a stranger was rather rare in Hurricane, and though she was easily adapting to that of the mainland and various other islands, the foreign culture still unnerved Sumiko. Mariko could share her sentiments.

"A fine young man," the Kirigakure man said triumphantly, patting Katsurou on the shoulder. It was quite the sight, to see a man of similar stature to the tall, towering Katsurou.

Finally, he turned to Mariko, who tried not to flinch.

"Ah, Second Princess, a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, Sir Hozuki."

And she curtsied, as she had learned all her life to do, flawlessly. He dipped his head politely, his bob of sand-colored hair glinting in the light. It was then that Mariko took notice of his outfit, which consisted of pinstriped everything, common in Kirigakure. That alone was enough to loosen her up, for an overload of Mist style was quite amusing, and this man seemed not to know when to let up on the stripes. Sumiko would have a fit trying to fix such a mismatching combination. His attire was ludicrous, but his hair, both on his head and the facial portions of it, were far too much to endure without a slight smirk. Even Katsurou snorted something amusing to Ryouichi, who was trained to keep a nonchalant little smile on.

"Mr. Hozuki, if you'd refrain from smothering that poor girl with your evidently terrible Kirigakure style, I have a few lords and ladies who would like to make your acquaintance today."

The voice that called sharply over the din of the grand hall was clear and commanding. Not harsh, but not meek, either. It was a familiar voice, one that belonged to a man the four siblings used to call "Uncle Swirl" when they were still children.

The head of the Uzumaki clan, an aged man with gray hair like a sheet of silver silk, a square beard to match his square hair, and the remnants of years of smiling crinkled in the creases alongside his eyes.

"Uncle Swirl," Mariko blurted, before, shutting her mouth abruptly upon the sharp glance her father threw her. Within the span of seconds, the old Uzumaki had grandly stepped up beside her.

"I'm glad you still call me that, child," he said, eyes creasing into his warm smile. "But," he continued, "on a separate matter. Mr. Hozuki."

"Uzumaki-sama," greeted the Kiri nobleman, dipping his head far lower than he had for any of the princes or princesses. "The Mizukage gives his best regards."

"Tell him I am well, and how is his brother?"

"I shall. In any case, Uzumaki-sama, I—"

"You have nothing, for you are to meet my nieces and my nephews, and perhaps even my granddaughter, for she has taken the time to visit her dear old grandfather and accompany him to a lovely autumn gala."

Katsurou was visibly holding back a smirk, for Uncle Swirl always had the most eloquent ways of shutting someone up. It was clear that the Uzumaki held the Hozuki in low regard, and from the slight confusion and frustration of the Kiri man, he had succeeded in his manipulating ways. Uncle Swirl was old now, very old, but he presented the face of a man thirty years his junior. It seemed that all Uzumaki were this way, with their unimaginable life forces and auras of eternal youth. Uncle Swirl's wife was renowned as "the Clan leader's never-wilting poppy" or the "everlasting ruby", because even at such an elderly stage, she retained the beautiful cherry-cerise hair of the Uzumaki.

"I look forward to meeting each and everyone," the Hozuki said, though through slightly gritted teeth. He held his pride in those teeth, tensely, for he knew that all eyes were on him now, waiting for him to decline the prestigious clan leader's offer.

"I wait for the day that man snaps and tries to eliminate us all," Ryouichi commented flatly.

"Ryo!" exclaimed Sumiko. Despite her incredulous expression, the glint of amusement twinkled in her eyes, shining green beside her elegant face paint.

"Maybe it's just because our makeup freaks him out," suggested Katsurou. He earned glares from all three of his siblings, because he knew better than to call the pastels and powders "makeup". Makeup was for prettying oneself, and, as Ryouichi would remind him, the men of this country had no need or want for prettifying their faces with yellow-auburn dust ground from herbs and flowers and the bark of the cherry wood trees.

"Yes, Katsurou, it was all you," retorted Mariko just as dryly.

"Hey, I'm a _fine man_, and what are you, Second Princess?" A smile, and Mariko slapped his shoulder goodheartedly.

"If I am to remember all your names, you must sit beside me at dinner," Hozuki was saying now. It was all an act, Mariko thought vaguely. The man thought he was playing people skillfully, but lacked the intuition to sense that the Uzumaki saw right through him. Especially Uncle Swirl's granddaughter.

If he thought, in any way, that he was charming her, then he was completely and utterly wrong.

"My lady, tell me your name and what your ruling in Uzushiogakure might be," sang the Kiri man gracefully, spinning smooth words together like a jutsu.

"I am not a lady of the land, Mr. Hozuki," the woman replied just as effortlessly. "I am the granddaughter of the Uzumaki clan head."

The flash of surprise and wonder that crossed the Hozuki's eyes was rather amusing. He straightened his spine like a board, growing far too stiff for casual conversation. Sumiko snorted a joke into Mariko's ear as they escorted guests to the grand dining room.

"Ah, Princess, you must tell me your name, then," the Hozuki purred. It was such a suave, baritone voice that Sumiko actually laughed out loud at his attempts to flirt.

"Perhaps," replied the woman teasingly. And then, Mariko saw the glance that passed between the red-haired beauty and her own sister. A mocking roll of the eyes.

"Sit by me, fair Princess." The nobleman led the Uzumaki royalty through the doorway and to a seat.

"Mr. Hozuki," Sumiko suddenly broke in, swinging the enormous double doors closed. "Do you know, that in Hurricane, a woman with a red bar on the bridge of her nose is engaged?"

"Ah." Rather befuddled by the randomness of the topic, the Hozuki nodded slightly, nonexistent brows furrowed. The hairless ridges above his eyes pressed together meaningfully. "I did not, but I notice your younger sister bears such a symbol."

"Yes, she does," Sumiko answered. "And did you know, a _blue_ bar means that one is married? In fact, the shade of blue signifies the length of time married."

"That's quite interesting." The sound of his voice spoke volumes in the opposite direction.

"Yes, it is," she airily chirped. "A light blue bar means a woman is newly married, while a nice baby blue might mean she has been married for some time. A dark blue, navy bar would suit Uzumaki-sama's wife, wouldn't you think?"

"Ah, First Princess, I for one, would not know," responded the Hozuki, becoming impatient, "for I am accustomed only to Kirigakure traditions."

"A shame," Sumiko put bluntly. "The cultures of other nations is always enjoyable and interesting. Well, back to the bars, first. What color do you suppose Mito beside you would be bearing tonight? Should she have donned Hurricane's pastels, of course."

The Hozuki nobleman stared at the elegant blunette for a few, stunned moments. When the implications of her words began to sink in, his eyes darted suddenly to the beautiful Uzumaki sitting just to his left, rather calm about the entire thing.

"I haven't a clue," he said, voice becoming a mutter of disbelief. (As in, had he just humiliated himself by flirting with a married woman?)

"I think a pretty sky blue would do, don't you think, Sumiko?"

Mariko thought that the woman's voice was pretty, like a songbird whose song could be translated into her speaking. It matched her features perfectly, from the fine line of her mouth and full lips, to the sparkling evergreen eyes, and the sheen of garnet tresses that were wrapped elegantly around her head, fit into two wrapped buns on either side. The delicate but firm slope of her shoulders, porcelain skin, and flawless hands made her seem doll-like, but the down to earth tone and friendly expression made her so human that Mariko felt that if she was one day crying, for an unknown reason, this woman would be able to comfort her without asking a single question.

"I think so too, Mito," agreed Sumiko, purposefully loudly. Sumiko, despite her spats and temper, and her constant disagreements with their father's arrangements, had always been favored by King Hiroto. Rather than a disapproving scowl, he was rather amused by the ongoing conversation.

The Hozuki glanced at his hands, blinked rapidly, and then raised his gaze back to Mito. "The man who married you," he said slowly, "is the luckiest man on Uzushiogakure, I'd say."

This brought a look of unexpectedly bright amusement to Mito's eyes, and she laughed lightly, an airy sort of expression, with a breathless quality to it. Her left hand briefly rose to touch the red diamond imprinted on her forehead; Mariko hadn't noticed it before, because her hair had obscured it in its current, complicated updo.

"You have yet another mistaken fact, Mr. Hozuki," she told him rather brightly.

"Have you kept up on the latest mainland news? As neighbors, we hear of things quickly," piped up Sumiko rather happily. Oh, she enjoyed picking on this stingy, condescending Kiri nin like it was her favorite pastime.

"I…have not, regrettably." He was flustered now, and seriously debating whether or not to tell his Lord Mizukage not to attend the winter gala, because this autumn one was causing him excruciating humiliation.

"I have married into Konoha," Mito said.

"Ah, Konoha, a land of many prestigious clans," the Hozuki rebounded, hoping to recover from any slip-ups prior to now. "Which clan, may I ask, have you married into? Is it the Nara? The Yamanaka? The Hyuuga, even?"

"No, but I've made acquaintances of all of those."

"Do tell, is it…the Akimichi? The Inuzuka? Or…could it be, the prestigious Uchi—"

"The Senju."

And it was a known fact that Hozuki held a mild, disgruntled dislike for the Senju, so the oddly pleased little smile on Mito's face spoke for the total of her thoughts. And for once, the Hozuki nobleman was completely rendered speechless, mouth opening and closing like a misplaced fish out of water.

From there, Mito so skillfully redirected the conversation, it nearly seemed as if nothing had happened — well, besides the pride that was literally stripped from the Hozuki's face.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ It's late October, just a week after the gala. Dad's big roan and Katsurou's stallion were fighting again. It seems that the fence isn't enough to serve as territorial boundaries. They've always been like that, haven't they? And then there's Maki, the old pony. He's like the grumpy old man that chases everyone off his lawn. Katrina's moody too, but she gets tired of the boys' arguments quickly, and goes off to find something more amusing. Do you remember the day we first saw Katrina? I still do, of course. I sometimes wonder, Momma, why you bought her for me. What did you really see?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

A nine-year-old girl, bright blue hair wrapped in a headscarf of multiple colors, peeking through the railings of a corral. Too short to see over the fence, and too small to be taken seriously, the little girl eyed the wild filly with awe from the sidelines.

"Watch it, little girl," spat the horse dealer, his words accompanied by a horrid spray. When Katsurou was her age, he always chanted: _Say it, don't spray it_. Especially when Ryouichi's childish lisp got the best of him. He grew out of it, of course.

But Mariko wasn't a little girl, not quite. She was just built with a naturally small frame, and a round, little girl's face.

"Mari, don't get lost!" her thirteen-year-old sister had called, drawing her protectively to her side. Next to Sumiko, Mariko always paled in comparison. And at that moment, she looked like a six-year-old being tugged along behind her older sister, who actually looked her age.

"Sumi, that horse."

"We're here to get Katsurou a horse, you already have a pony."

"No, _look_. That one."

Sumiko's head raised to the place where her little sister pointed, but shook her head vehemently. "That's a river horse," she explained. "It's wild, don't you know? No one can fully tame a river horse."

River horses, dappled gray and stunning with their silvery-black manes and tails, the prized equine jewels of Hurricane. To see one was glorious, to touch one even better; to have one in a corral was rare, but also debated upon among the islanders. Many said they ought to remain free, while others desperately tried to break them in.

"Momma!" Mariko had called them, ignoring Sumiko's mini-lecture. The beautiful Queen Manami, a woman with soft, chocolate-brown hair, and a delicate face with finely chiseled features.

"What is it, Mariko? Have you seen the big black one that Katsurou is riding?"

"Momma, can I have that horse?"

Upon seeing the river horse, the queen quickly shook her head.

"There are many things you can have, Mariko, but that is not one of them." Soft, hazel eyes met bright green ones. "You have your pony, Maki, remember? Wouldn't he be lonely if you suddenly left him for a river mare that can never be tamed?"

"Maki has the groom master's daughter, now." It was a point to be taken, but that wasn't Mariko's main concern. The loose-lipped, pudgy horse dealer was the problem here. She'd seen him whipping his poor animals half to death, sparing nothing on the beauty of the dapple-gray mare. Even if she could not be tamed, Mariko still wanted to help the poor animal. Even now, as the whip snapped threateningly, the mare danced warily around the paddock. "The mare is in trouble," Mariko reasoned. "We'll set her free again."

"Mariko, we live in the middle of Esmeralda, that's not possible."

But the contradiction to those words lay in Manami's eyes, for the queen's gaze had lingered for a second longer on the animal dealer and his vicious crop he wielded.

"Mother! Mother, we're ready for the sale!"

Katsurou clopped by on a grand stallion, a massive black creature with hooves the size of dinner plates, and a face longer than his own torso. The proud Second Prince trotted a showy circle around his siblings, in a fine display of horsemanship as the stallion tucked his chin to his chest and stepped out grandly, trotting a lovely piaffe in place.

"Lady Queen," the meek horse master, owner of the black stallion, said quietly. He dipped into a formal bow, before letting his hand fall onto the neck of the charcoal horse, which nuzzled him rather fondly.

"A minute, good man," said Manami. She rose to her feet, queenly in every single fiber of her being, and strode up to the nasty horse dealer in the ring, flinging his whip carelessly. She called out to him firmly. He turned, eyes widening, and lowered himself on one knee. The dappled mare heaved giant breaths in the corner, ribcage swelling with her pants, knees quivering as she pawed the earth.

"How may I help you, Lady Queen?"

"You will sell me that horse." Now, the queen's eyes were upon the bloody cuts lining the mare's legs with disdain. "And all the horses in your barn."

Wide eyes swept up to meet the queen's, but the man blubbered his way to a coherent sentence. "Your…my Lady Queen, certainly that's—"

"Name your price, horse dealer. And don't mess up your figures."

He named it, and she paid. She turned to the small old man holding the reins of the black stallion, and offered to him a fine duo of chestnut colts, from the entire barn she'd just purchased, in return for the black stallion.

"Mother?"

The three siblings stared curiously at her, three pair of green resting on her plain brownness. The queen turned her tired face to them. They knew she couldn't stand the pain of animals, originally the daughter of a duke who treasured his horses.

"Remember, you three," she said wearily, "that the life of a thinking, breathing animal is as precious as your own."

They said nothing as a staff of stable boys began the tedious work of transporting fifty horses to Emerald Palace's grand stables.

* * *

The filly scared the living daylights out of every single horse hand at the royal barn. The master of horsemanship shook his head and murmured a low comment to the queen, who sighed.

"Let her go, Lady Queen," suggested the old horseman.

"We'll take her to the outskirts of the village to the far north, then," agreed Manami. "She'll be closer to the river that way."

Mariko sat on the fence, propped up because she was too short to see on the outside. Eventually, the mare shuffled over to her, a lanky creature with her hipbones gaunt and jutting out from beneath her taught skin. Despite the thin skin wrapped around her visible ribs and lean neck, the dappled horse trotted with a floating elegance, the stride of a beautiful animal.

Then, like a hurricane, she spun in a crazed circle, lifting her forelegs and whinnying fiercely. Her black mane tossed as she came back to earth, snaking her head forward and lashing her hind legs out. She came so close to Mariko that her sharp hooves nearly clipped the girl's knees.

"Mari, get down from there," the queen called.

"No, look, Momma."

The filly was quiet now, and extended her nose. She was tired.

"She's friendly," Mariko insisted. Sometimes Queen Manami wondered if her nine-year-old daughter was still a baby at heart, a teeny toddler that cherished the lovely little things in life with a bubbly smile and a gurgling laugh.

The little blunette hopped down from the fence line, and as she walked calmly up and down the paddock, the dappled filly hesitantly followed. When Mariko stopped, the horse stopped. When Mariko walked, the horse walked. When Mariko ran, the horse trotted after her, ears pricked, eyes shining with curiosity. Finally, as Mariko turned to face the horse, the filly wheeled away with a snort and a kick.

"Mariko, step out of the paddock," Manami ordered, more forcefully this time. However, before any of the stable guards could step in and carry her away, the gray mare had cantered a slow circle around Mariko, and then stopped with her nose to Mariko's shoulder. She snuffled lightly, tickling the little girl with her oats and hay breath.

"Second Princess, shall I let you name this filly?" called the old horse master. Mariko beamed at him. "She hasn't touched anyone besides you, you know," he added. "Perhaps she befriended you the moment you saw her?"

His insight was impressive, for the filly _had_ seen Mariko at the market earlier. Through the splintering slats of wood that made her dingy corral, the filly's soft nose had bumped against Mariko's hand, inhaling her scent. Intelligent eyes peered at the blunette curiously, as if the horse knew that the girl meant to harm, and was trying to befriend her. But before Mariko had been able to extend her fingers further, her mother had called, and the horse dealer brutally slashed his whip across the mare's hindquarters.

She named her Katrina.

* * *

The best horseman in all of Hurricane could not stay on Katrina's back for more than thirty seconds. Correction: the best horse_woman_ in all of Hurricane could not stay on that horse's back.

Sumiko, at hardly fourteen, surpassed all the riders around her, becoming a renowned girl champion. She and her lovely palomino gelding jumped high and clear, a delight for all to see. At one point, it was said that the leader of the Senju clan had praised her equestrian skills.

"That horse is _nuts_," Katsurou decided, folding his arms. His own black stallion had turned into a magnificent hunter, carrying him out of the city and to the east fields with practiced ease.

"Not as nuts as you, Katsurou," Ryouichi commented plainly. "You know, maybe if you actually attempted a thought process before your actions and words, you might actually make a good decision."

Eighteen years old and at the height of his smart mouthed wit, Ryouichi easily quipped Katsurou's blunt comments with quick witticisms.

"At least I don't still put my feet in the stirrups backwards," Katsurou shot back. Ryouichi sent him a mild glare; he was never a hot-tempered one, but he grew uncomfortable when someone addressed his lack of riding excellence. True, he wasn't as great a rider as his siblings, but he was adept enough to be considered competent. He liked to remind Katsurou that he'd once won the island steeplechase, with the trusty old brown steed that had belonged to King Hiroto.

"That's a complete lie, Katsurou," Ryouichi defended. "Besides that, I _always_ have everything on correctly. It's you who puts on the girth backwards."

"The girth is the same on both sides!" Katsurou threw his hands up. To him, the belt that went around a horse's belly was the same, whether or not it was leather or rope or even what side you decided to attach it to first.

"Nuh-uh," disagreed Mariko. "You _do_ put the ones with only one stretchy side on the wrong way. Do you know how many times I had to fix Lord Middon's horse for him?"

"That man doesn't know anything about horses," complained Katsurou. Then, "And I put those on the right way!"

"Only sometimes," Mariko reminded him quietly. "Because you're not paying attention."

Another collective wince as a distinctive thumped marked yet another fall. Sumiko was tough, and she liked the risk of riding a difficult horse. Again and again, she wrestled with the stubborn mare, holding hard to the saddle while trying each time to find what worked for the animal.

"I'm always paying attention," muttered Katsurou.

"Then why is the non-stretchy side always on the left? It's supposed to be on the right."

"Oh stop it, Mari." Katsurou rolled his eyes, lacking the will to listen to Mariko's technical babble. Sixteen and sassy, Katsurou was the definition of a teenage boy who roamed as freely as he could, stretching the ends of his withering tethers.

"Mariko," called Sumiko, picking herself up from the dust a fifth time. "You want to try riding this beast of a river horse?"

"I'm not allowed to."

"Sure you are."

"I'm afraid."

"No you're not," snorted Sumiko. "You're bold enough to argue with the Second Prince, so I'm sure you can ride this horse."

"That's different."

And it was, because when it came to her siblings, Mariko was open about everything. With her father, she became a shell, inhabited by a hollow soul that followed orders without question. With horses, she was often uncomfortable when the animal beneath her didn't have the same habits and quirks as the docile ponies she'd been used to all her life.

One time, she'd tried riding the shiny chestnut gelding that Katsurou had ridden all his life until his black stallion, but the horse differed so much from her own pony, Mariko had declined even the smallest jump. The chestnut had a long, elastic neck that flexed beneath the contact of the reins, and a long body that bent around her leg at will. These were the qualities of a well-trained, well-bred horse, but Mariko had ridden short-necked, wide-bellied ponies for ten years, almost, and was not ready for the creature that snaked under her almost unpredictably.

"What do you mean 'He's moving on his own?' Those ponies you ride move on their own, they hardly listen to you!" exclaimed Sumiko when Mariko expressed her thoughts. "Katsurou's boy here is so sensitive to your leg, can't you see that he's obeying your every direction? He canters on the slightest touch of a calf, and come back to a trot when you just barely stiffen your back."

"That doesn't mean I like it," Mariko grumbled, folding her arms in a manner similar to Katsurou. Exasperated, Sumiko had stalked off, leading the chestnut behind her. Mariko had pulled off her riding boots angrily, angry because Sumiko, who was a brilliant rider, didn't understand her fears. The First Princess was fearless.

Mariko didn't stay to watch Katsurou jump the gleaming red chestnut.

"Well?"

"I told you, I don't think I can do it," Mariko repeated. Sumiko gave her a once-over dubiously; Mariko was dressed in riding attire, looking fully ready to mount her new dappled mare. "What?"

"You clearly want to ride your new horse," Sumiko said quietly.

"No, maybe I want to ride Maki," Mariko said, making a lame excuse about her old pony, who was now being ridden by some other little girl. "And who said this was my horse? All I did was name her…"

But Mariko should've known better. On an island that treasured their jewels and gems and land and horses, naming a horse meant claiming it, and Katrina was, by title and heart, Mariko's.

"That makes her yours, silly." Sumiko rolled her eyes and handed the reins to her little sister, relinquishing the horse and strutting proudly out of the arena. She left a ten-year-old girl with a wild, most likely unbroken horse in the ring. Alone.

"What are you doing?" asked Ryouichi urgently, making a move for the gate. Sumiko shushed her older brother forcefully, and the poor prince shut up. If the mistress of horses deemed that Mariko was capable of seeing to this horse, then that was it.

In the ring, Mariko petted her mare's muzzle fondly. Katrina, whose ears pricked upon hearing Mariko's voice, nickered a low, guttural sound from her throat. Finding the mounting block, because there was no way on this island or the mainland she was getting on from the ground, Mariko looped the reins over Katrina's head and led her forward. A cautious foot in the stirrup, and then her right leg swung over the mare's back with quite some effort – even the mounting block was too low, so she had to jump a ways.

Upon mounting, Mariko found that her forgetfulness would eventually become the end of her. She hadn't adjusted the stirrup leathers, and they were far too long for her. Sumiko had long, slim legs, while Mariko was small and…short.

The little blunette was afraid she'd startle the mare, so she just froze in place like that, hands clasped loosely around the reins and resting on a forest of black mane, legs dangling free. She sat up slowly. When the mare didn't move, only pointed an ear back towards her, Mariko let out a shuddering breath. If the mare bucked now, she'd fly into the wall.

"Easy," she muttered, reaching down to grab a stirrup leather. The mare blew air through her nostrils, scaring the living daylights out of Mariko. Once she'd collected her wit again, Mariko continued to pull the stirrups and readjust the buckles so that they were the correct length – well, as close as she would get them. Her toes slipped into the irons and she felt a more solid weight in her heels, seating her more firmly in the saddle. Now, perhaps, she wouldn't fly off as easily.

"Are you sure she'll be okay?" said Ryouichi again. He was always concerned for his youngest sister, because she was small and fragile and young.

"I don't really know."

The two princes spun on their sister then, eyes wide. Sumiko was expressionless, eyes locked on the odd pair of horse and girl in the ring.

"What do you mean, _you don't know_?" hissed Ryouichi. He was livid, and Ryouichi was not the type to become enraged. Katsurou closed his mouth, pressed his lips together, and told himself not to say a word, or endanger them all. He was smart enough to recognize that if he interrupted now, Ryouichi may begin to yell with Sumiko, and they would startle the horse, and Mariko would fly into the wall.

But the mare was quiet, still, ears continually checking on Mariko.

"Just wait," Sumiko snapped in a low voice.

At this, the unusually agitated Ryouichi could only seethe in place.

"I'm going to pick up the reins now," Mariko said, as if telling the horse what she was about to do would keep her calm. Another ear pointed towards her, then a soft whicker. Mariko collected the leather straps in her hands, feeling a tension when the line went taught. She let out a breath, and was about the relax, when the mare burst forward into a lively trot. Mariko couldn't help but let out a high-pitched yelp.

This sent Ryouichi leaping at the arena gate, but Sumiko shoved him aside. She was rather strong for a fourteen-year-old. Katsurou kept his mouth shut.

The dapple-gray mare, after about a month and a half of good feeding and care, had filled out her skeleton and was now a magnificently muscled being. She trotted with an even, smooth step, haunches pushing forward. The slope of her shoulder made for a long, smooth stride, and her neck arched beautifully.

Scared half to death, Mariko rode as calmly as she could, posting to the horse's quiet step. The reins were rather loose, for she feared upsetting the mare with a tight grip.

"Thirty seconds," slipped through Katsurou's lips, because he couldn't help but make a jab at his sister. Sumiko glared.

Mariko dared to sit deeper in the saddle, and the mare perfectly transitioned in a grand canter, her stride eating up the distance. She loped around the corner, ears flicking back and forth. It was as if she had been trained before, despite being a river horse caught on the run.

"One minute."

"Oh shut up," hissed Sumiko, watching her younger sister somehow cling to the mare, partially amazed, and partially terrified.

Then, a door slammed.

Alarmed, Katrina's head whipped up and her ears flattened, and she gave one mighty buck that unseated Mariko with ease. Katsurou must've yelled something, but no one heard it, because everyone was scrambling into the ring.

"Loose horse!" came the shout, as Katrina pounded through the open gates and into the courtyard of the barn. Katsurou, who ran faster than the rest of them, reached Mariko first and scooped her into his arms.

"Don't touch her!" exclaimed Sumiko. "Check her neck, first!"

Mariko repeated "I'm okay, I'm okay" at least a hundred times, but Sumiko was thorough. She ignored the shouts of alarm from the barn and checked her baby sister from head to toe, and once she was satisfied that the only harm done was a bruised bum an a lot of sand in her pants, dust on her face, Sumiko stood.

"This is what happens when you force me to do things," Mariko said. Her voice was without menace, and there was even a small smile on her face.

"But it was worth it, right?" Even though the danger was great, and Sumiko knew that it could've been a lot worse, she was relieved. And she was glad that the little smile on Mariko's face was a new type of emotion, yet to be seen more in the little girl's eyes.

To take risks was a part of life she would learn with time.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ I've got this terrible ache in my shoulder. I think it's because I fell off Katrina again, yesterday, but it's a bit different. I've fallen of Katrina tons of times, even though I stay on longer than anyone else — did you know that we're jumping the country stone walls with Katsurou now? — but this type of ache is sort of different. I can't really describe it. It's on the edge of my left shoulder, a little bit onto my back, which makes no sense, because I fell off and landed on my right side today. But it hurts every now and then, when I'm sitting and thinking and just plain tired. Well, besides that, I had to _embroider_ today. Seriously, Momma, of all things, they made me do _that_ again? It's funny when I think about it._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

She had been four, a teeny thing, a bob of blue hair that toddled around the palace with the happiest smile on her face. Mariko had a tendency to look a year or two younger than she really was, because she bumbled around like she had no idea what she was doing.

And she didn't, really.

Her favorite things included riding lessons, piano lessons, and playing games with her siblings. After the strenuous task of learning one line of a children's piece, Mariko mounted her rotund little pony, Maki, who dutifully stopped in all the most inconvenient places and refused to budge, even with her little heels digging into his sides. And, after all that work, Mariko still had enough energy to want to play hide-and-seek with her brothers and sister.

"What's our range today?" Katsurou said, dressed up today like an Hurricane soldier, complete with the black collar and all. Yesterday, he had dressed up as an Uzumaki, going as far as to throw a red, peppery powder into his hair. Everyone just sneezed, and it did nothing to cover his blue hair. He wanted to paint it with their mother's face pastels, but obviously, he had been declined. "I'm sort of tired of staying within the living rooms, you know?" he added. His adventurousness was a trait that carried on all his life, and at ten, he got bored quite easily without a change of setting. "Can we go outside?"

"Not unless nii-san says so," Sumiko answered, fiddling with the hem of her dress. It was itchy.

"You can't play in _that_," scoffed Katsurou, wrinkling his nose. Sumiko glared, the most ferocious glare a little girl could conjure.

"I'll change, and _then_ we'll go find nii-san," she said. Katsurou folded his arms triumphantly.

And so, the trio of blue-haired children scampered down the halls to the palace library, where they had most of their lessons. There, they found their eldest brother bent over an enormous, dusty textbook, squinting. Ryouichi had just gotten his glasses, but he often forgot them in his room.

"Hey Ryo, you done?" Katsurou leaned on the desk casually, skinny arms grabbing for the book. Ryouichi snatched the text away out of habit, because the hands of younger siblings were always reaching for this belongings.

"Yeah, let me finish this last page."

"Why are you _reading _that?" snorted Katsurou, blowing at a flop of hair that fell across his face.

"Why _don't _you?" Ryouichi replied smoothly.

The trio waited for their eldest brother to finish his reading, which he did quickly. He clapped the volume closed briskly and asked: "What are we doing?"

"Hide-and-seek," Katsurou said. He held up a hand, to keep Ryouichi from interrupting. "_But_, we're going outside this time."

Ryouichi stared at him, and Katsurou turned to their sisters jubilantly. "See?" he said rather jovially, "he can't even _tell_ us that we can't go outside!"

"No, no I can't," agreed Ryouichi. "But we have to be careful, still."

"You're _twelve_, man, lighten up!" Katsurou exclaimed, patting the First Prince on the back. They all scrambled for the library doors, and upon an early decision by Katsurou, it was deemed that Ryouichi would have to be the seeker. The oldest boy groaned inwardly as his siblings split in all directions. Nevertheless, he turned to face the wall and counted to a hundred.

* * *

The waterfall behind the palace was like a secret treasure chest, and naturally, all three ended up there. Despite their separate routes, they all converged at the same point, and alarmed one another by bursting into the clearing beside the little river at the same time.

"What're _you_ doing here?!" yelled Sumiko. Not waiting for an answer, she dodged into the leafy greens of the forest to the north, and hid herself. Katsurou threw his youngest sister a look that clearly told her not to follow, leaving Mariko alone beside the little pool that trickled off from the waterfall. The rushing waters fell into a deep pool, and formed a decently sized pond, before rushing off behind a mass of boulders to another cascading river.

It was a hot day, air buzzing with heat, and Mariko enjoyed the cool mist that sprayed off from the falls. She wore a little girl's leggings and wide-strapped dress, but despite this, she wasn't afraid to crawl about and dip her legs in some dirt. She had nowhere to hide, now, because Sumiko had taken to the cover of the trees, and Katsurou had stolen their old campout beside the boulders. She couldn't follow either of them.

A distant rustle and snap of underbrush indicated Ryouichi's arrival. Mariko eyed the falls, scrambling to the left, near where Katsurou had gone. Then, abruptly, she broke off alongside the pond, scrabbling over a few sharp boulders. There was a little bit of sloping rock wall, there, and then a length that extended behind the waterfall. She knew this because her mother had shown her one day, perched upon the high ledges and singing a lullaby.

"I know all of you are here," came the voice from a distance. Mariko leapt as high as she could, which wasn't very far. Her older siblings were rather careless, letting a four-year-old climb a rock wall by herself. She managed to pull herself up onto a higher layer, a slope that ran the length of rock until she reached the rushing waters.

Ryouichi burst into the clearing. His feet tread upon flattened grass, plants smushed by the shoes of the three before him.

Alarmed, Mariko dove for a ledge, her little body wiggling along the rocks. She was trying to make for the little cove behind the waterfall, a natural stone door that eventually led to a miniature cave. She could hide there and remain hidden for a day.

Unsurprisingly, she didn't make it. She wasn't even as tall as the gap in front of her was long, and the only thing below the gap was another ledge one might fall upon, and then a multitude of jagged boulders, lapped by water.

"Mariko!" yelled Ryouichi, eyes widening in horror. He nearly lost his glasses, which he desperately wanted to throw aside—they were too big, and the water was splashing onto them—but without them, he would only be able to spot a vaguely blue spot on the rock. He had no time to even think; he was too late already. He watched, through blotched, rainy lenses, as his baby sister tumbled from the rock ledge and hit the next one. And then, her fingers scrambling for a purchase on the slippery, wet rock, she tumbled again. There was a sharp cry as the corner of her back hit the craggy end of a rock.

Ryouichi was over the rocks and splashing through the small pools like lightning. He crawled over a series of pointy boulders, and maneuvered his way to her.

Curled up in a heap, left shoulder soaked in red, Mariko shivered and whimpered. At this point, she didn't know what happened. She heard the voices of her siblings, and then the voices of her mother and aunt, and then after that, she forgot.

Mariko awoke to a soft humming, the smell of freshly baked cookies, and a horrendous sting in her shoulder. She was lying on the wound, a terrible gash into the corner of her left shoulder blade. It wasn't a long wound, but it was rather deep. It felt like it struck straight through her back and to the front, under her collarbone. She was thin and small, so the rock had pierced her hard. Luckily, nothing was broken and nothing was severely damaged. It was almost miraculous, the poor girl.

"Promise me you'll never be so careless again, my dear," her Aunt Tari said quietly. She clucked around her niece busily. "Your mother was worried sick, you know."

"Where is Momma?"

"She just stepped outside to talk to your brothers, hon."

Mariko stared at the ceiling. She didn't want at the waterfall anymore, and the sound of water hitting rock outside her window was almost painful for a time. After a few more days into the summer, approaching July, all she wanted for her birthday was for the wretched sting and ache of every movement to go away. Her childish excitement was sobered for the span of a month.

They never played hide-and-seek after that.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Winter this year seems to be hitting late. It hasn't snowed, really, except for the most pitiful slush I've ever seen a couple days ago. And can you believe it? They _still _haven't told me my destination yet. How can I avoid it if I don't know what it is? What is this is Sumi and Katsurou's doing? What if they _want _me to be the good child and get married obediently this time? I only know that Ryo is on my side, because I've seen him try. He tries so hard in everything. I really wonder how he does it. Yesterday, he almost dropped Aunt Tari's pressed flower collection, you know, the one with the hibiscus flowers in it? My favorites are the ones that have lots of colorful rings. There's one with deep pink in the middle, then a light ring of pale red and white, then deep red, and then orange at the ends. The simple ones are pretty, too, like the pink one that fades to white. There's only a few blue ones, but those are darker, like turquoise or lavender, sort of. Besides that, tonight, we have the winter gala. I think I might pretend to be sick. Would you be disappointed in me, then, Momma? Though, I don't think Mr. Hozuki is coming back, which is pretty funny. Maybe _this_ time my husband will be with the lot, though I'm not sure if I want that, still. Any ideas to my epic escape? Well, any of your ideas would just be my own imagination, wouldn't they?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

There was a letter, addressed to Mariko, brought to the barn for her by a speedy footman who was far too nervous for mail delivery. At first, the princess was extremely excited — did Sumiko suddenly decide to attend? Or maybe, Katsurou was going to be a father, and she an aunt?! Or maybe, a friendly letter from Uzushiogakure, announcing the opening of some random building and an invite to the grand ceremony! As her ideas got out of hand, leading to the Mizukage announcing that he'd construct a bridge to Kumogakure, the name on the letter made her hopes fall.

Ryouichi.

And then, she felt terrible, and immensely so, because that wasn't fair to Ryouichi. Especially since way up in his office, he had hardly any time for anything, let alone stepping outside that office, and the fact that he had to send a _letter_ to talk to her was sad enough.

_See me. It's about your "plan"._

Of course, Mariko told Ryouichi everything, during rare moments of spare time. In those precious minutes, she spilled just about everything, stopping before her innermost fears and worries, because those were things even her mother in the sky didn't know of.

The brush in her hand was thrown into a random bucket, along with seven other horsey items that had been spread neatly outside Katrina's stall door. Padding through the brown slush of the yard, Mariko made her way back to the palace. She found that the gardeners were arguing at the side gate, debating whether or not King Hiroto had ordered red roses or yellow ones, or both, so she skirted around and picked her way through the front garden. The poor patches of arranged flowerbeds were wet and mushy with melting ice, and rather depressing with the eerie sheen of minimal light that filtered through the gray clouds.

"Your plan".

What did it mean? Was she finally to learn of her mysterious, nameless husband? Mariko enthusiastically plunged past the flowerbeds, almost recklessly plowing through bundles of stacked snow when she didn't feel like winding through the maze meant for guests enjoying pretty flowers.

His office was at the top of one of the towers, and she had a splendid, panting time making her way up the endless flight of stairs. Sometimes she wished she had wings so that she could float her way up. Then, she thought to herself dully, _A shinobi would've had no problem with these stairs_. And it was true, for the one or two shinobi messengers a month that wore the funnel-like storm symbol of Hurricane on their foreheads flew up the staircases faster than a swallow darting to its nest.

"Enter," came the answer to her knock.

"Ryo," exclaimed Mariko breathlessly. "What happened?"

Before Mariko could string together some excited theory about her ideas of Sumiko returning or Katsurou fathering a baby, Ryouichi motioned her to his desk. She approached, chest heaving as she caught up on her oxygen.

"Your plan, Mariko," Ryouichi said, for what must have been the fourth time, because she was babbling nonsensically again. Of all people, Ryouichi was the most skilled at brushing away the cute, senseless prattle that seemed to dance from her mouth. Often enough, if someone got the Second Princess talking, and she was sure she was comfortable, the endless string of cheery talk that came from her was overwhelming. Yet, the listener would stare in awe, nodding absently at her pleasant, lyrical voice, before she realized she had gone too far and she snapped her mouth shut, terrified.

"Did you find him?!" came the immediate answer, causing Ryouichi's brow to quirk, amused. Someone had given his youngest sister sugar, because she had to be running on something to be this energetic…

"I did. Finally," Ryouichi said, rubbing his head. Nowadays, his glasses never slipped down his nose that often, but he constantly made the motion of shoving nothing up his nose, as if the habit comforted him.

"No, wait, tell me slowly." Mariko was suddenly terrified, unable to sort out her emotions. How was she to deal with this? Take it all calmly, and all at once, or bit by bit, so it could soak in? "One thing at a time, and start from where I'm going."

"You're going to Konoha, from Ice Harbor to the Fire Country's Port City."

No, no, wait, this sounded like her entire trip was already planned out. She fisted her hands, nails digging into palm.

"Then? Some daimyo or something?"

"Nope."

Ryouichi flipped few papers casually. He looked up.

"Senju," he said simply, without any explanation. Mariko folded her arms, Katsurou-style, because it seemed as if Ryouichi was dead set on keeping her waiting. The moment he had a window of time, he used it to his best ability, relishing each moment he would wait a minute and even relax.

But now, Mariko was silent, because where had she heard this name before? Senju. A name associated with "Konoha" and the legendary "god of shinobi", a man she had never seen. She pictured him as a gruesome but brilliant warrior, a man of unimaginable power who could shake the earth with a sigh.

"You are being sent to Konoha to be married to the leader's younger brother," Ryouichi told her, his voice flat as if he was reading from a book.

Mariko stared at him.

"What?"

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ I'm getting married._

_ In June._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

April brought a wet spring, and showers to bring May flowers danced across the island. And along with it, a depressing gloom settled itself over the royal palace, the cutting commands of King Hiroto the only thing to shake people out of the dopy stupor.

Half a mind, half a mind, half a mind onward.

Preparations to the left of them.

Preparations to the right of them.

Preparations in front of them.

Mariko curled up on her pillow and watched them all. By the end of the month, Sumiko had visited twice, despite the long trip from Hot Springs' capital to the coast, and mail from Katsurou was the mailman's most common mail.

Quick notes like: _Have you packed, yet? It's never too early. _Or even _Mariko, don't forget your face pastels. You can never have enough of those. _All from Katsurou, who was the last person she expected to lecture her on maintaining tradition.

Royal messengers were on a rolling chain, a conveyor belt of communication. One would leave, and another would arrive. As soon as one left the palace, another stormed in, and when that one left, a next one knocked on their doors. At regular intervals, they burst into Konoha, and burst back. It gave Mariko a headache.

May rolled around, and indeed, the flowers bloomed. One day, Mariko found that Aunt Tari's pressed hibiscus portfolios had been left on her mattress quilts with a note in loopy, familiar handwriting.

_My dear girl, I am sorry to say that your uncle, the brother of your sister and my own twin, has passed. I am to take care of his ceremonies, and today is the day I leave for the country. I am sorry to leave so suddenly, and on such notice, especially at such a crucial time. I hope you understand, Mari, how much I want to be with you when you embark on your journey. I, who has never experienced such a thing, cannot relate, but for your mother, I may hold your hand. But you are a grown woman now, in a way, I don't think you need someone to hold your hand anymore. Your late uncle's funeral awaits me, as well as a mourning family. Please take my collection as a memory, for I do not know when I'll return to Esmeralda, and even when I do, you will have long since set foot on the mainland. Your mother added the last hibiscus, if you ever need something to look at and calm your nerves. I miss you already, my dear, and wish you the most luck and happiness. Your mother and I are always with you._

_Love,_

_Aunt Tari_

Mariko stared at the pressed petals all sorts of colors, albeit slightly dried. This was to be expected with the passage of time, but when she flipped to the back, she found a slightly brighter hibiscus. Sapphire blue, with tinges of violet and turquoise, and a red core, the final flower. Mariko bent her head to it, as if by touching her nose to the thin film that pressed the dried petals down, she could inhale the will of her mother and aunt.

Then, silently, she folded herself into a bundle on her bed and squeezed her eyes shut, refusing even the slightest bit of light to enter her conscience.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma and Aunt Tari,_

_ Today is the second to last day of May. Tomorrow I leave for the mainland. I am eighteen years old, almost nineteen — Momma, how old were you when you left home and married Dad? I guess that doesn't really count, because you two fell in love. Would you understand, Momma or Aunt Tari, the pain I feel when I know my fate is decided? After that day in his office, Ryouichi never managed another message or conversation with me, because he was so busy. And because of that, my "plan" was never executed. _

_ Well, that's probably because I never had one to begin with._

_ I'm always lost._

* * *

Special items:

1. Surprise! Second Mizukage at dinner.

2. Surprise number 2! First Hokage's wife at dinner. What a diverse dinner table.

3. Horses, for I am a horse person. It's been a while since I wrote anything to do with horses... hope it's okay!

4. Senju Senju Senju!

5. DUN DUN DUNNN

6. A slight parody of _The Charge of the Light Brigade_, simply because it was in my head, due to a classmate reciting it for his speech.

7. THOUGHTS? CONCERNS?! Tell me how I'm doing! :)

I don't bite.

Hard. =3=


	3. Departure and Arrival

Holy Tsunade, this is so long. All other stories are currently on hold, because this is so long. SO LONG.

Chapter threeeeee.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto. Oh, and Tobirama's a sassy ass in my story, lol. Evil like an Uchiha, but not.

**Note: **I am surprised by my own patience with this story. Usually, Tobirama and Mariko would already have kissed and had a mushy love story, and had babies, and all that good stuff. Lol. Patience, Cav, patence...

* * *

**Chapter 3: Departure and Arrival**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Journey Log — Day 1_

_I never knew how many guards were posted outside Esmeralda's gates. Now I do. It's not a long trip to the coast, two days at most, and at least Dad let me ride Katrina there, but the next part is probably the hardest. I'll have to leave here there. Is there any chance I can suddenly break from this unit that's on all sides of me, and make a run for it? Unlikely, considering I have nowhere to run. Well, at least I thought about it, and reasoned with myself, right? We've already spent one night at Amethyst, and tonight is the last sleep in Hurricane._

_Tomorrow, we arrive at the coast._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Jagged cliffs and crashing waves marked the southernmost point of Hurricane, and a bit further to the southwest, Ice Harbor.

The dangerous ledges and breakaway slabs of rock were unnerving, and no matter what happened, Mariko vowed she would never run towards their edges. Katrina was being fussy enough, ears pricking at the salt in the air and the unfamiliar sounds. Her trot was sound and even, despite the many stones that often caught themselves in her hooves.

"M'lady," drawled a scrawny squire, accompanied by a rather boisterous knight who was probably only Mariko's age. Locals. "We present to you," he said in his nasally voice, "the local delicacy — a light crème _brûlée_."

At first, Mariko had been wary of the knight's bundle — what if it was some horrid, reeking fish dish that they wanted to offer her? Mariko had grown up with a plethora of chefs at her command, to make her whatever the shinobi world offered, whatever her heart (or stomach) desired. She tried to be polite and open her taste buds to all foods, but she had her picky ways that stuck to her, sweet and slow to let go.

But a small dessert like this was simply delightful, and the smile that rose to Mariko's painted face thrilled the young knight and his squire. She thanked them, and they bowed courteously, before trotting back to their town. It wasn't quite a mystery that she was travelling to Ice Harbor; that, and her hair shone out like a rainbow horse in a herd of grays.

The ship docked at Ice Harbor regally flew a Fire Country flag. No, Mariko corrected herself. That was, actually, the Konoha symbol.

"What a ship," said one of her guards, beaming as he pulled at his overly tight collar. Even in the beginning of a hot summer, they were required to wear their soldier's uniforms, complete with black cuffs and necks. "See that grand flag? Konoha always manages to look magnificent without Kirigakure's snobbishness."

"Lady Princess." The captain of the ship greeted her with a friendly smile, and Mariko took to him immediately. He was an old fellow, wide at the shoulders with a newsboy's hat and homely, patched vest. Named Bard for his singing and his storytelling, the old captain was nothing special, but certainly a warm-hearted man. Then, upon seeing the scrabbly meal of chicken and vegetables that the crewmen were having, Mariko wished she'd saved some desserts for them.

"Captain Bard," she addressed. "A pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, Lady Mariko."

The ship was sturdy and the winds at their backs; progress was quick, but at the same time, tortoiselike.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Journey Log – Day 5_

_It's our third day at sea, and I have to admit that I'm not overly fond of boats. Given that I've never been off the island – which I find quite depressing, now – it probably makes sense that I don't like boats. I've never really been on a big one, before, unless you count Thunder River's trolleys. But those things are tiny, and they don't sway as much as these do. I can hardly even write._

_It takes a week and a half, approximately ten days, to reach the mainland. As far as I know, we're stopping at a smaller island to stock up on more supplies on the seventh day at sea. I'm not sure, though. I only know one thing for sure, though – I'm glad I'm not marrying a Kiri boatman._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The floor seemed to bulge out from under her, the sudden wave taking her by surprise. Mariko braced a hand on the wall. She had four lady servants accompanying her, one of which was an older woman, a nurse and Aunt Tari's childhood friend. She was a quite woman with a steady hand, a graying head of hair, and a name so difficult to pronounce that she urged people to just call her "Lemma".

Beside the young princess, Lemma held out a creased, calloused palm. She swaying and rocking of the vessel didn't seem to bother her, and her feet rhythmically followed the ocean's swing. Mariko took it gratefully, on the other side accompanied by a guard who didn't quite seem to take to boats either.

"Lady Princess," he said, his voice rather stuffed and uncomfortable. "The Captain invites you to see the sunrise tomorrow morning. He says the waters won't be as choppy as today; we're just passing through a spot with changing currents, and such."

"That sounds lovely," Mariko responded, nearly tripping over her own feet again. She was also grateful for the captain's hospitality, for he and his crew didn't seem to mind the subtle variations of culture, especially her face paint. While a few men dumbly gazed at her, a few awed, a few confused, and a few appalled, actually, the rest accepted her pale moon complexion and the accents of red and violet on her face.

"I've heard that in Konoha," the officer continued, "there is a mighty mountain on which one can carve faces. I won't believe it till I see it."

Hurricane had mountains, yes, but they were a snowy region to the north. And it was only a small patch of mountains, most of them small and forest-covered, with one or two high peaks. After that, another stretch of land, the land moistening to the sea once more, side of the island opposite Ice Harbor. With Esmeralda right smack dab in the middle, there was nearly every type of landscape in all directions.

"Well, I've also heard that they eat camels there, so I'm not sure what's true and what's not," added a meek lady servant, who often chatted merrily with her maid friends.

"Camels," snorted the soldier, amused.

"I'm serious!" she defended, a shy smile coming onto her face. "I've also heard that there's a man who can grow trees from his hands, and another who can materialize water from thin air!"

"That's ridiculous," laughed the soldier lightheartedly. "They would never starve or die of thirst – they could just grow some plants, and then poof! Water!"

"Exactly," giggled the girl.

Mariko watched this exchange with a curious sort of interest, and maybe, just maybe, a touch of envy. It was obvious the two were playing a flirtatious game, and suddenly, the blunette felt intrusive. She made her way to her rooms and dismissed them to their own activities, the details of which she probably needn't know of.

She opened her notebook then, and observed the name scratched on one of the pages. Her husband's name.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Journey Log – Day 10_

_Eighth day at sea, and I think I'm finally getting used to it. And then I'll pitifully stumble onto land and forget how to walk straight. That's just grand, because I've learned how to walk straight all my life. Remember that? Aunt Tari used to put books on my head, _and_ remember, Momma, when you had me do a hundred curtsies until I got them perfect? That, and I remember being told that I was the worst one yet. Well, not told, more like I overheard. Well, just to let you (and Dad) know, all that princess and future bride training is useless on a boat. Just saying._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Mariko was a princess. That was obvious, of course. The fourth child to the throne, with the least chance of actually taking the throne. This meant she was a political tool, simply put, to be married off and seated as a pillar of an alliance. Katsurou, who was a male heir, had more of a say and more use in politics. He was more powerful, for he was both next in line, and a prince. Unless a girl was the first child, princes were the next-in-line kings – a big deal.

Sumiko was a prime example of the "shipped off daughter". And what did she do? She defied this name, of course, and became the "stowaway daughter". Hot Springs was a close border-coast country, and to stabilize economy – trade, tariff regulations and exceptions – their political alliances – to ally in the case of war, or help in the case of need – was a major necessity. Marriage, it seemed, was the best answer. At the time, there was a chortling old governor who held much power in the Hot Springs nation; he was second only to the daimyo. So, as a symbol of friendship, King Hiroto made a deal. He would send over his oldest daughter to be married.

It didn't work out quite as planned, but in the end, Hurricane got its alliance with Hot Springs anyway. They also had a good longstanding relation with the Frost Country, a smaller nation farther north of Hot Springs. With Katsurou as their power play in the Frost, about half the east coast nations were in alliance with Hurricane. After all, the threat to the far east ocean, Kirigakure, could always decide to conquer any of the smaller islands between them and the mainland.

They'd done plenty of that, already.

There remained many other countries in the vicinity, but some were already deemed neutral, not a threat, or blood/natural alliances. The Tea Country was too far south for anyone besides Konoha or Suna to really deal with, and occasionally the Mist, but they were a peaceful country without many complaints. The Sea Country with its many islands and cities were also a quiet nation, politically, and even farther south. There was a good line of trade for the Sea Country's rare herbs and silks for Hurricane's gems, ores, and even horses.

Inland countries were very far away, and usually not negotiable due to distance and their own internal struggles. However, there was always some consideration – should Hurricane make alliances with, say, Iwagakure, as an example, then the possibility of war on both fronts of (another example) the Fire Country would be to their advantage. Yet, at the same time, it would split up forces, whereas an alliance with Kumogakure to the north would bring the forces of the Lightning Country, Hurricane, and all their allies all on one side.

Other islands, Nagi Island, O'uzu Island, the Wave Country.

These were places that didn't tend to interfere with greater nation problems. The Wave had enough trouble coming from Kirigakure, and unless they requested assistance, they were on their own.

Uzushiogakure was, naturally, in alliance with Hurricane through an old family branch. No one was sure whether it was by blood or by marriage, but the Whirlpool and the Hurricane had much in common, be it their symbol or their ideals. The two nations were like brother and sister to one another, and dealt any (rare) disputes peacefully.

That basically left the most central nation of them all:

The Fire Country.

With borders on at least nine different nations, and coastal fronts on the east ocean, the island circle's waters, and the southern sea, the Fire Country was possibly the most advantageous of them all. Konohagakure, the first established shinobi village, also received the most mission requests and highest revenue. Allied with the Sand – an alliance that would snap and twist through the ages, but pull through in the end – and neutral with the Rock, Konoha was in a good position. The marriage of the Hokage to Uzumaki Mito, Uzushiogakure's dearest granddaughter princess, was also a stabilizing factor to the east. They had many concerns, many of which had to do with smaller countries and Kirigakure, but by far, it seemed that Konoha was the most powerful.

And here was Mariko, literally being shipped out to them, like a product of trade. Hurricane loved Konoha rice and grains, for some of the plants grown on the mainland could not thrive on the island. They already had stable economy, so why a need for political alliance?

Mariko wondered this for the longest time.

Besides that, it seemed that her entire life thus far was readying herself for a political marriage. She was a princess, after all.

From the time she could walk, she was taught to walk straight. Should she drop a book from her head or take a gangly, unladylike step, she was sent back to the end of the corridor to start again.

From the time she could talk, she was trained to be polite and respectful, aware of her position, her situation, the amount of authority she had compared to her conversing partner, and everything a member of the royal family ever needed in a conversation. It was tiring, the amount of formality drilled into her head.

Curtsies, and how low one must curtsy. To her father, as low as possible. To a man of equal rank, but of a different nation, also as low as possible (though inner nationalism always sought one's own king). To a servant, never. But Mariko was always kind to them, for they were her "friends", the people that kept her from laying in her bed, depressed by this princess training, because they talked to her like she was normal (a thing that most would not have allowed).

Culture, history, lessons.

Having someone paint her face, or painting it herself. How pastels were made, where to get them.

And equestrianism. Soon after her first steps, she had been placed on a horse.

And as soon as her fingers gained some sort of dexterity – meaning she could hold things without dropping them and allowing the dog to eat them – she sat at a piano and learned to love practicing. In fact, between horseback riding and all the other things she had to do, the only practice she thoroughly and truly enjoyed was playing the piano. She didn't have to go very far, and it naturally came to her fingers. Instead of a nerve wracking, albeit enjoyable ride, the piano always, always soothed her.

"Bride training", she called it.

More culture. More history. Lessons after lessons after lessons.

"You must never speak out of turn."

"You must never be disrespectful or stain your country and your name."

"You must always walk like a lady. Pretend that if you don't, you will fall off a tightrope into a canyon."

"This paint does not just hide your face, it hides your intentions. Be aware of all around you, child."

Backwards, that sounded.

"Don't talk too quickly or too slowly, but elegantly and eloquently."

"There is a reason for this, child, and you will learn with time."

Eighteen years of it all, and Mariko wondered how many more it would take for her to really learn.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Journey Log — Day 12_

_It's morning, early morning, and I hadn't expected to be so hesitant. We arrive at around noon, our last hours at sea to be peaceful. However, if I could, I'd hide among the barrels of supplies, so that when the ship turns back to Hurricane, I'd be able to get off. There's quite a few grave mistakes with that plan — I see now that even if I had a plan, it would be horrendous — including the fact that the trip back would take over a week, it's pretty much impossible, and lastly, how in the world would I know where the ship heads next?_

_I dread the sea, but yet I dread the land. I have no familiar horse to take me home._

**_.x.X.x._**

They'd dragged the princess, a blue-haired ball of frenzy. Lemma had forcefully taken her by the arm, then the waist, and then ordered a guard to haul her away, because Mariko had been reduced to sobs. Her fingers were entwined tightly into Katrina's dark mane, face into the horse's warm neck. The mare's soft, moist breath nuzzled her shoulders, then her collarbone, as the guard wrenched her away. Then, as the horse realized that the men were hurting her rider, and putting her on that monstrous contraption that sat on the great water, Katrina's ears laid back menacingly on her head, and it took six men to restrain her.

"Hold that horse!" snapped the local harbor manager. He had a whip in his hand, and at the sight of it, Katrina reared straight into the air, forelegs pawing furiously.

"Stop it! Don't!" cried Mariko. The words of a princess were final, and the desperation in her voice stopped all movement immediately. The man stuffed the whip into his boot hastily, kneeling and muttering a chain of apologies to the Second Princess. The guards, dumbfounded at the mess the horse had made — barrels and crates overturned, posts splintered by her powerful kicks — didn't bother to catch Mariko as she ran back over to Katrina.

"That horse is dangerous, m'lady," said the port manager.

"I've ridden her since I was nine years old," Mariko hissed after cooing softly to the shuddering mare. "You have no right to draw a whip on a royal horse. I'd rather her set free in the city then held under such a harsh hand."

The accusation was evident, and the man shrunk back, ashamed. At least he didn't have a temper. Mariko's own had flared, and she was now terrified of what she had just said and done, cradling the horse's head against her and rubbing the dark ears numbly.

"Lady Princess." Bard offered a calloused hand. "I apologize for lacking the accommodations needed for an equine traveler, but I can inform you that some of my men are staying here, and my take care of your friend."

"No, it's fine," Mariko said quickly, petting Katrina's black muzzle softly. "She will go straight back to Esmeralda with my remaining guard."

"I see. If there's anything at all, Lady Princess, I have a few men who are quite good hands when it comes to horses, for they come from a family of animal lovers."

"I'd rather you keep them, Captain Bard. Better to have more hands, and good ones at that, with you."

"You are kind, Lady," replied Captain Bard, tipping his old hat. He rubbed the gray stubble on his chin and patted his wide belly, before hobbling up the ramp to the boat.

"Lady Princess." Lemma's soft arm encompassed her, and led her away slowly. There was a heart-breaking whinny, a confused flicker of her ears, and Katrina was led away. "You'll see her again," Lemma assured her. "Perhaps, one day she may gain passage to the mainland as well."

"A river horse is never to leave Hurricane," Mariko reminded her, still in the midst of pathetic sobs unsuitable for a lady of royalty. Tears had run streaks in her white face, but they were only enough to make damp, gray lines that bled the purples and pinks under her eyes down her cheekbones.

Lemma said nothing, for she, like all the people of Hurricane, knew the verse well:

_"May the stars crown you with emeralds, _

_and the sea wash upon a herd of sapphire horses._

_May the river and its stars guide you to the heart of your destination._

_Follow the path, encrusted with jewels,_

_A horseshoe of impossible light;_

_your sight is your creation._

_The midst of a typhoon, the eye of a storm,_

_Let the river horses take you to all but the world,_

_The unreached mountain watches,_

_As your emerald heart unfurls._

_When you reach the end of time, _

_And the Hurricane Wolf devours your soul,_

_Protect your heart and watch your feet,_

_For the moon sees sins at whole."_

A river horse never leaves Hurricane.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Journey Log — Day 14_

_It'll take us four days to reach Konoha. We're on the second day of land travel, I'm a rickety, plain, but welcoming carriage. Sometimes I walk. But when I walk, I think of Katrina, and then it makes me too sad to watch the plain dun horses pulling the carts. So I sit in the carriage again, because the rhythm comforts me._

_Now I really wonder what I looked like to the people, crying over a horse. I must've looked terrible. Dad would have had a tantrum._

_Dad. When did I start calling him "Dad"? Momma has always been Momma, Aunt Tari is the same as Auntie…_

_Did I ever call him Father? Why don't I call him Father, at all?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The Fire Country. Scenic, sure. Sparkling? No.

Mariko paused at the side of the path, marveling at the crisp green-yellow of the tall grasses, stalks that came as tall as her shoulder and higher. It was in no way as stunning as Hurricane; that was a given, seeing as the view outside of her window never ceased to stop amazing her. But the plains had an appeal of its own, homely stretches of yellow and green, turning to flame at sunset.

"I was wondering," said her maid beside her, accompanying her walk. "What sort of food is traditional to Konoha."

"I wonder that too," Mariko agreed, smiling softly. She moved along once the front guards sent her a few worried (maybe exasperated) glances. The padding of her feet along the gravel sent shivers up her spine. She could feel the granules through the thin slips that were her shoes, light blue ballet flats that were comfortable but impractical. She hadn't worn them while riding — there were riding boots for that — but upon arrival in Konoha, Lemma had shoved them in her face to vigorously that she was required to put them on.

"I've heard that _dango_—" the girl said the word with a funny pursing of her lips, as if the sound tasted foreign, "—is quite good. I'd like to try it."

"I would too," Mariko said, nodding. She glanced down at herself. Her shoes weren't the only items that failed to provide suitable travel wear. She still wore her paint, the light moon pastel that the maid beside her always put on dutifully and carefully. And she still had her Hurricane-style dress, tight at the waist, with fitted bodices, slim, silk sleeves, and the supposedly elegant single folds that fluttered down her legs. While this one was looser than most, it was still difficult to get around in.

"My Lady, it seems you are just agreeing with me on everything," the maid laughed lightly. She was trying to lighten the mood, seeing as Mariko was rather preoccupied. However, Mariko's current topic of thought was not what the maid would have assumed. The older girl supposed that Mariko was worried about her marriage; Mariko was actually worried about her travel clothes.

"I'm interested in Konoha's clothing," the blunette blurted all of a sudden. The maid's eyebrows shot up, and then nodded silently. "What type of clothing do they wear? What do _shinobi_ wear? And what about _kunoichi_?"

"Perhaps we will come across a few," suggested the maid, encouraging the princess with a bright smile. This was the maid that had quite the flirtatious relationship with one of the soldiers up front, Mariko reminded herself. She was glad that her people were happy, at least.

As if on cue, the grasses rustled and Captain Bard held out a hand. The old man of the sea had informed them of his ninja status, despite his appearances, and it was his mission this time to escort them all the way to Konoha.

A group of shinobi leaped from the grasses and landed lightly in front of them. Mariko gasped, taking in their appearances. Three children, one adult. She recalled something Katsurou had told her about shinobi teams, with the young ones learning to become fully-fledged ninja with an adult mentor.

The adult was a stern-faced woman, with a slim face, high cheekbones, and a fair complexion. She was so fair, Mariko thought that she wouldn't have needed much face pastels to gain the same white that the Hurricane women did. In severe contrast to her ghostly skin, her hair was deep black and wrapped in a complicated topknot. She was the picture of tidiness and order, her armor polished and glinting in the sun.

The three children, however, were a different story. One was rather rotund and smiling, a bag of snacks in his hand, which he munched away at, rather content. He had the funniest hat, a black fabric fitted over his head, with a metal plate at the front bearing a ninja's village mark, but with two peculiar points, like cat ears. His ruddy cheeks reddened when one of his teammates told him to stop eating, but he didn't get angry. Instead, he cheerfully handed the snacks to that teammate and told him to take the last bite.

That teammate in particular, a dark-haired boy with a mischievous smirk and a smart mouth, it seemed, accepted with a surprised "thanks, man". He had short, somewhat shaggy hair, and sharp eyes. Despite the pinpointing attribute of his eyes, which seemed as if they focused particularly on every detail, he was rather laid back and relaxed.

The last younger shinobi was a quiet boy, also dark-haired. He absently rubbed an x-shaped scar on his chin, brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes, and glared. The glare was fierce, and it startled Mariko. He was hardly, what, ten or eleven years old? The glower that emanated from his features was far to austere for a child. He was cold and calculating, and seemingly the darkest one of the group.

"Toka-sama," greeted Bard, his familiar, friendly smile lighting up his face. "How are you and your team?"

"We are well," replied the woman with a small nod. Her stiffened stance had relaxed at the sight of them, but she obviously put on her guard upon seeing the unfamiliar soldiers. "You are on a mission yourself, I see. It's rare to see you away from Port City."

"Ah, Port City is my life and the sea is my love," agreed Bard, "but Hashirama-sama's missions are my being."

"Hashirama would laugh at such a statement," Toka said. "Perhaps to you, but not to me."

"Oh, but Toka-sama, he would laugh even harder if his own cousin told him that his missions were her essence!"

Toka laughed then, a soft expression sliding into place on her gaunt, solemn face. She seemed like a taciturn woman, but the comfort and familiarity that came upon recognition of an old friend fit just as well on her pale features.

Mostly, Mariko gathered that this woman was related to the Hokage. That must mean that she was also a Senju, right? The little blunette almost wanted to ask something, but the chubby boy interrupted.

"Toka-sensei, it's almost 10:30, we're going to miss the transfer point," he called. She turned and nodded, signaling for them to move on. She hardly spared a glance for Mariko, only eyed the guards, actually, before departing with a quick goodbye.

The Senju clan.

Toka.

Mariko continuously ran words through her mind, shoveled through her thoughts until they became useless heaps of jumbled information.

"My Lady, we have seen what a ninja looks like," the maid noted.

"You're right, we have," agreed Mariko. This time, she wasn't just idly following along — her own eyes had been opened.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Journey Log — Day 15_

_It's dark out, and it's hard to write, but this fire will suffice. Tomorrow is the last day of travel. I hate how I naturally begin counting down the days, as if I want to arrive. I don't want to arrive, Momma. I want to turn back and run as fast as I can. If I was allowed to become a kunoichi, I could run on water. At least, I've heard that ninjas can walk on water. I'm not too sure, it doesn't seem possible. Then again, according to Sila, shinobi can grow trees from their hands, make water out of nothing, and they eat camels, apparently._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Traveling was slow, and the fourth day the slowest. Bard seemed wary, for today, several teams passed. Mariko, from the carriage, witnessed the passing of several ninja, not all of them teams consisting of a teacher and three students. Four-man cells came by, members ranging from young adults her age to old men of Bard's years. A platoon of eight passed, all wearing bizarre animal masks, which reminded Mariko terribly of the one birthday gift she'd hung on a stable door. The horrendous, ugly, creepy red one that would serve as Katrina's guardian. At least was endearing, in a way, because it was a gift. Courtesy of the Hot Springs, of course.

Sometimes, lone ninja would pass by. Sometimes only two. One time, a kunoichi with a dog flew by, without hesitation. Often enough, they came upon other travelers using the same roads. A couple journeymen and traders from Hidden Grass, with an abundance of herbs and other foods. A few men and women from a land directly north of the Fire Country, an unnamed place as of yet, but with growing commerce and organization. Those people brought the most amusing little instruments, miniature wind ensembles that they performed on delightfully.

And then, three hours after the sun had reached its noon peak, the gates of Konoha. As if the land itself brandished huge pillars for weapons, allowing the travelers to behold the mighty entrance of the Hidden Leaf, the gates of Konoha loomed before them.

"Welcome to Konoha," said Bard proudly, slowing to walk beside her carriage window. "Princess Mariko, I hope you find it as beautiful as I do, and the people as lovely as your own."

Mariko wished she was bigger, stronger, taller. She hardly heard Bard's words, but nodded in response. She was too busy staring up at the walls of the village, grandly sprouting from the earth before her. If she had been even a few inches taller, she would not have been so dwarfed, perhaps. Her mind thought this, but her body didn't agree, for it kept straight and unwavering, without a slip or misstep as she exited the carriage. If her mind and body traded places, she would've fallen and started trembling at everything long ago, while her brain comprehended nothing but the task beforehand: untangling the rules of "Bride Training" that had been ingrained into her mind for so many years.

A familiar face at the gates nearly brought tears to Mariko's eyes, because she was so relieved to see the kind, open face and the long red hair swirled up into twin buns. Nearly collapsing out of the carriage, and barely remembering to walk perfectly ladylike, Mariko rushed to Mito.

"Long time no see, Mariko," said Mito. The redhead wasn't the closest person to the Aokami, and she certainly didn't visit often, but as an Uzumaki, she was pretty much considered family by default. Mariko was so relieved, she wanted to hug the redhead, but the crowd that had paused to see what the commotion of ten guards and a team of ninja with a carriage at the front gate stopped her.

"Long time no see," echoed Mariko.

"Tell me, how has Mr. Hozuki been?" It was a joke, clearly, and the lightheartedness of it all made Mariko's heart light.

"Haven't heard from him since."

"Lovely," chortled Mito, smiling. Mariko marveled at the light that a simple smile brought to the Uzumaki's face, her natural beauty utterly stunning. "Now, dear," she continued, "Let me introduce you to Konoha. Look pretty and smile, okay?"

Look pretty and smile?

It sounded quite familiar to Mariko.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Konoha — Day 1_

_My first hours in the Village Hidden in the Leaves was a tour. A tour! I don't think anything could've made me happier, because I felt the whole time like I was a tourist or a visitor, not a person here to stay. Unfortunately, I _am_ staying, and there isn't a thing I can do about it. It's nearly dinnertime, but I'm enjoying this large room they've given me. It's very comfortable, and I think Mito had a hand in arranging it, because it looks suspiciously similar in setup to my room and Sumiko's._

_I haven't met my husband yet, by the way. I heard he was out at the moment._

_Also, I am to experience Konoha food. I hope I like it. (Sumiko says I'm the pickiest girl on earth, but I beg to differ.)_

_Oh, and my guard was right: They _do_ have a mountain you can carve faces on._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

With one myth confirmed, Mariko had three (at least, three she knew of) more to go through. Did the citizens of the Leaf eat camel? At this, Mito guffawed in such an unladylike manner that Mariko's eyes widened to saucers.

"Excuse me," chuckled Mito, covering her mouth. The graceful lady at the autumn gala had magically transformed into a cheerful, casual human being. And that wasn't a bad change, because the stiffness of a royal court was devastating to anyone. "That was really funny," Mito added, "I don't think I've heard that one before. Who told you that?"

"One of my guards," Mariko explained sheepishly.

"Well, tell him, dear, that we _don't_ eat camels." Mito flashed a wink at her, an expression that Mariko found oddly comforting. "You certainly won't see anything too strange at dinner tonight, hopefully."

"Hopefully?" Mariko smiled. Her alabaster pastels generally hid her facial expressions, even though they were mixed with aloe and lotion-like qualities to keep it from transforming into a cracking mask, making them quite supple, like a second skin. Still, the paleness and the coverage made it hard to discern what sort of face she was displaying, unless you watched her eyes and eyebrows closely. She had painted her lips a shade of red a few palettes lighter than what Sumiko would put on, in hopes that the shape of her mouth defined would add character and outline her expressions.

"Well, you never know," Mito said jokingly. So accustomed to the ways of eastern islands, Mariko's hidden smile didn't faze her at all. She knew, simply by gazing into the girl's emerald eyes, that the conversation was putting her at ease. Mito was glad, for she remembered her own frightening trip to the mainland for an unknown marriage. However, she had, in fact, fallen in love with the handsome, maybe slightly goofy, but strong First Hokage.

"What differences," ventured Mariko, "do you think are the most obvious between Konoha and some of the islands?"

"Differences?" Mito took a moment to ponder. "Well, for one, your paints."

That was obvious, and Mariko lifted a self-conscious hand to her cheek.

"I wouldn't worry about it though," Mito continued evenly. "If you'd like, you don't even have to wear it. Casual life doesn't call for it, right?"

"But dinners do," tipped Mariko.

"That's right, isn't it? Maybe that's why Sumiko scared off Mr. Hozuki, eh?" Mito smiled again, and it was so contagious that Mariko couldn't help but follow suit. "But Mariko," Mito continued. "Don't be afraid to be yourself."

Mito said those words, but in fact, they scared Mariko even more. She was being told to drop everything she had ever learned, how to be a princess and a bride. Without her perfect posture and her speech caramelized in formality, what did she have left? Was she supposed to become a slob? No, obviously not. What did "be yourself" mean? Who was she, really?

_Who am I?_

"Mariko?" Mito stopped in her tracks when the girl went oddly silent, expressionless.

"Sorry," mumbled the blunette, catching up to the Uzumaki with quick but elegantly straight strides.

"Dinner is soon," Mito said, glancing at the sky. They were just passing through a beautiful park beside a picturesque lake, a shining scene comparable to Hurricane's post-card worthy landscape. The sun was dipping to the edges of the line of water, reflecting in shimmering layers upon the small waves. Mito tossed a pebble, just for effect, and the ripples sent glimmers of sunlight outward.

"Konoha is beautiful," murmured Mariko. The hint of sadness, loneliness, and homesickness was not at all missed by Mito.

"I cannot tell you what to feel," the redhead said solemnly, "but I can tell you that if I am not unhappy here, you will not be unhappy either."

Mito herself was the basis of this claim, but she had no support or even a whim of whether or not Mariko would be happy. She could only wish well for the girl. After all, she didn't even know the face of her husband yet. Mito prayed that Tobirama would be kind to her, but that prayer was stretched thin.

Mariko was silent, and they spent the rest of their walk to the Senju complex in comfortable wordlessness.

What Mariko wasn't expecting, however, was the massive dining hall that the cozy little corner of Konoha had. It was filled, nearly all the seats, with excited Senju clan members and special guests.

"This isn't for me, is it?" Mariko asked warily. Mito gave the girl a sideways glance. It was, in part, for her arrival, but it also celebrated the anniversary of the first Hokage inauguration.

"Do you want it to be for you?" Mito put a hand on the girl's shoulder; a serious question. The helpless look — one that could only be seen in the girl's green gaze, for her face was stoic and pale as the moon — that Mariko gave the older woman made it clear enough. And, Mariko seemed to know that she would have to be the center of attention. Unexpectedly, this did not quite faze her; she'd been acting at such dinner parties for eighteen years, so she supposed a change of nation would not make a big difference. She did mind, however, the fact that she was making a commotion. She never wanted to make a commotion. The only aspect of her princess style that she could alter was her ability to make a scene; she was the quiet royalty, the small princess who didn't say much, and faded beneath the cover of her older siblings.

But Ryouichi wasn't here, and neither were Katsurou and Sumiko. She was on her own this time.

"I'll let you know, then," Mito said. "All these people are here mainly because today celebrates another year of the Hokage's inauguration. There are plenty of foreigners, so you'll fit right in. The people to the north are quite bizarre, I'll say. Don't be unnerved, because you're not the only foreign culture here."

Mito nodded at an elderly man, one of the chefs, before guiding Mariko to a table further up front.

"Only most of the Senju know who you are, really," Mito continued. "You won't have to do anything, rest assured. I'll introduce you to Hashirama, my husband. I'm sure you'll like him, he's the most warmhearted person I've ever met."

The Hokage was a busy man, but not busy enough to find his wife among the bustling crowd and slip through the people to plant a chaste kiss on her cheek. The smile on Mito's face this time was completely different, thought Mariko, because the warmth that seemed to swell from the bottom up was made of a love that Mariko didn't know.

"And you must be Princess Mariko," Hashirama said then, his voice a grand, deep timbre. He wasn't pompous or regal, but welcoming, with arms spread like the limbs of a tree. He embraced her sincerely, to her surprise, and flashed the most heartfelt of smiles. With a sheet of silken brown hair, straight like a blanket that fell gracefully down his strong back and broad shoulders, Hashirama was handsome man with an slightly earnest, but gentle face.

"Hokage-sama, it's a pleasure to meet you," Mariko answered. The slight quirk in his brow was also unexpected, and then the following burst of laughter more than a big confusing.

"My dear, you don't have to use any titles with me," he chortled, placing a large hand on her small shoulders. "You can call me Mr. Tree for all I care, but Hashirama or Hashi is what I prefer, little sister."

Speechless, the little blunette stared up at the Hokage. He saw right into her eyes, dismissing the aloofness of her white pastels, and nodded. Squeezing her shoulder, then turning to Mito to tell her something quietly, he set off to deal with other dinner preparations.

"Little sister", he had called her. He accepted her wholly, no matter what hair color and bizarre paints she had, and though he'd only spoken for a few moments, his voice emanated kindness. It wasn't a thing that took observation — Hashirama had the power to make people _feel_ his acceptance. His love, unrequited and completely free. It wasn't that he gave it to everyone, but Mariko had the feeling that when he wished someone to feel at ease, the power of his own emotions conquered one's own, holding it like a nest cradling a bird's eggs. An unknown, unrecognized jutsu, even.

"Mariko." Mito's voice jerked Mariko from her reverie, pulling her to her seat. The grand dining hall was arranged in a fashion so vastly different from the one at Emerald Palace, Mariko had to take a few seconds to absorb it all. Instead of the long, rectangular tables that formed a large ring around the room, as in Hurricane, there were small circular tables everywhere, hosting eight to a unit. In Hurricane, the royal family sat up front with King Hiroto at the center, and whoever else he deemed appropriate to be seated beside him. Then, royal advisors arranged rows of people to sit in tables, gradually getting farther away. In addition, Hurricane often hosted an organized buffet, which would be inside their ring of tables. Konoha, however, had energetic waiters and waitresses, plowing through the crowds and deftly avoiding spillage of whatever item they hoisted in the air.

Mariko sat beside Mito, and beside Mito was Hashirama (though his seat was currently unoccupied, due to his role in the festivities). After Hashirama, a younger girl with high-set cheekbones and a certain slope to her nose that reminded Mariko of the pale Senju woman they'd encountered on their journey to Konoha. Another Senju, she presumed. After the girl, a rather lost looking gentleman, a smattering of freckles across his cheeks, distinctly not-Konoha. A foreigner.

Almost instantly, the idea of another foreigner at the table soothed Mariko. Upon further study, he had the studied look of a man from the Tea Country. Well, at least, Mariko imagined him to be from the Tea Country. She had only twice encountered a few ambassadors and representatives from the Tea Country, and they all looked like men and women who hauled their efforts over books by candlelight, all knowledge. She wasn't sure, of course.

After the freckled man, a boisterous boy of about ten or eleven. He sat in such a way that it seemed like he was guilty of something, like he as at the wrong table on purpose. There was, actually, a guest list on the center of the table, to designate the many people in the dining hall. Mariko couldn't guess who he was, so she just chanced a few glances at him.

"Hiruzen," Hashirama called across the table. The boy looked up, a mischievous grin flashing across his features before he managed to look somber, a skillfully practiced cover-up.

"Yes?" asked the boy, innocently. He had a wide smile and bright eyes, a tousled nest of brown hair and an air of excitement.

"You don't sit here," Hashirama put simply.

"I'm waiting for Tobirama-sensei," the boy explained.

"I know you are. I'll tell him you're looking for something," Hashirama answered.

"Aw, man. Rats."

"You can come visit later. Right now, we're trying to organize everyone." Hashirama had just taken a seat, allowing himself a quick breather, before shooing the boy away gently and rising once more to guide a few lost guests (most likely people who wanted an excuse to talk to the Hokage, or something of the like).

The boy bounced away, slinging an arm around a familiar face marred with an x-shaped scar on the chin. The dark-haired, dark-faced boy pushed the animated one named Hiruzen away, snapping something in an annoyed manner. Mariko watched after them, but they disappeared in the crowd.

Taking the place of the boy was the pale, sharp-faced woman. Her eyes took in the table briefly, and quietly greeted them all. She rested her gaze on Mariko for a split second longer, a glimmer of recognition slightly dawning in her features, and then she turned to Mito.

"Toka, how was your mission?" asked Mito.

"It went smoothly," answered the woman. "Kagami and Danzo, for once, got along for enough time to complete our transaction successfully."

"That's good. And how is Torifu?"

"Still scared of heights, but improving all the same."

The two women continued a relaxed conversation, Toka occasionally having to tuck a long slip of dark hair behind her ear, because it obscured her face. Then, in the midst of a conversation, another man took his seat beside Toka. He, too, was dark-haired, but it took on the color of a blue roan horse, so black that it was nearly blue. He ran a hand through his short, cropped navy hair, before joining in on the conversation.

Mariko observed each member of the table, and this man had the most interesting facial marks so far. He had two scars, which crossed on his forehead. A short mark that slanted from his hairline to his right eyebrow, and a longer scar that crossed the first one, ran down between his eyebrows, and dragged to the left corner, touching his jaw line.

"Hello," he suddenly said. "I'm Arata. You must be Mariko-hime, right?"

The unexpected greeting took her by surprise (as were many things that day), but Mariko handled it within a matter of seconds, smiling and holding out a hand. He shook it firmly, another interesting thing; a man in Hurricane would have knelt at her side and kissed her hand out of politeness. Mariko decided that she liked the firmness of a handshake, and smiled even wider.

It seemed that the man found delight in the small smile that was shown through her layers of pastels, and he began a friendly conversation with her. How was Konoha so far? What type of differences did she notice, and what did she like so far? Mariko found that he, too, was a horse lover, and had a fine pair of bay colts at the local barn he was training.

If this man was to be her husband, Mariko thought that she would be quite content. But then again, there was a single seat between her and Arata, so she doubted that he was the groom-to-be.

"Arata, you and your horse talk again," joked the young girl about Mariko's age across the table. She winked at Mariko. "Don't bore us with your horse jokes, all right?"

"I think the Lady would find them rather amusing," Arata defended. "At least I don't make terrible tree jokes, Etsuko."

The girl turned up her nose, snorting with laughter. The freckled man spared a nervous chuckle; he, like Mariko, didn't know what to make of things.

Etsuko, with her bright face and dark hair, rolled her eyes. The exchange between her and the horseman were familiar and familial; Mariko recognized the comfortable passing of eye rolls and giggles. They must be siblings, she thought.

"Enough," Toka cut in, though she was quite amused at the other two. "Where's that bumbling nugget head gone? He shouldn't be hard to spot in this crowd…"

Everyone besides Mariko and the freckle-faced man shrugged. It seemed that the two foreigners were left out of this, because they had no clue as to who Toka was referring to.

"He's made a practice out of hiding his white hair," Hashirama commented dryly. "He literally becomes a ghost."

Mariko would assume that this was the last missing member of the table, the one who belonged in the empty seat beside her. And, she thought dreadfully, this would be her future husband.

"He's obviously avoiding this," Etsuko said, an amused tilt to her head. Her eyes widened, and she immediately made a correction. "He doesn't like, um, crowds, after all."

Mito's face looked like she wanted to tell the younger girl that that was completely absurd, but she understood the gravity of the slip. Etsuko had just implied that Mariko's husband was avoiding the meeting. A glance at Mariko showed that the blunette had receded into her mask again, and her eyes, this time, gave away nothing.

"I should start, shouldn't I." It wasn't a question, and Hashirama rubbed his neck wearily. He groaned, and then comically pretended to make a dash for it. Mito grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back: a husband-wife comedy duo.

The Hokage made his way up a small platform at the front of the room, tapping a microphone which screeched horrendously.

"Now, how should I start this?" he asked, booming through the speakers once the harsh feedback faded. "Ah, I know."

The guests looked up at him.

"TOBIRAMA, WHERE ARE YOU, MY LITTLE BROTHER?"

A smattering of laughter, and a group of younger guests shoved another guest out of his seat. The cloak of a transforming jutsu gave way with a puff of smoke, allowing all to see the hassled Senju that brushed himself off. He gave Hashirama a dry smirk, holding his arms up.

"Here, brother," he said as flatly as he could, marching straight up to Mariko's table without a moment's hesitation. The giggling of several girls, and the hoots and jeers of a few younger boys (namely the student section) urged him to sit down quickly, though his white hair was easily followed to the table.

"Our game of _Where's Tobi_ didn't last long," sighed Hashirama, earning another round of chuckles. "In any case, welcome, one and all! Thank you for being present tonight—"

Hashirama's voice became a buzz, a background droning, because all Mariko saw now was the seething glower of a white-haired Senju, a tall man who slipped silently into his seat. The glare he continuously gave his older brother was only broken by an obvious kick under the table, Mito's eyes flashing dangerously. The white-haired man stared blankly at the tablecloth, which was deep red.

He didn't even look once at Mariko.

When Hashirama sat back down, the glare resurfaced, and Hashirama noted his.

"Don't say anything," he said quickly when his younger brother began to argue, "You're the one who publicly humiliated yourself."

"That's usually your role," Tobirama hissed. He folded his arms crossly and curtly ordered from the waiter who stopped by to take their orders.

"Tobi, if I could reach you, I'd smack the bag of your head to Iwa," Toka snarled a few seats down. It was obvious that she and the Hokage had little tolerance for the white-haired Senju's behavior.

"Go for it," Tobirama muttered, stabbing a single chopstick into his rice. This earned a few more glares, one of them added by Mito this time. It seemed as if the redhead's threatening stare mollified him more than those of his relatives, seeing as he glanced down warily.

The food, Mariko noted, was good. No camel in sight. Her guards were seated at their own table, chatting it up with her serving ladies, and having a grand time of it all. They were always alert, for Hurricane guards — and any worker of the capital's palace — were trained to have quick, calculated reactions and immediate responses. None of them were shinobi, save maybe one of the soldiers, but all were adept at close combat and other maneuvers.

"Mariko," Mito called, quite loudly despite sitting right next to her. "How's the food?"

"It's excellent," replied the pale-faced girl mildly, a little startled by the loudness of voice.

"_Tobirama_," Mito said even louder, "really likes this _dish right here_."

She gestured widely to a vegetable-based rice, which was quite flavorful despite its bland appearance. Literally called something along the lines of "vegetable rice", Mariko rather liked it.

"And," Mito added, emphasizing the one word too much, "_he would like to introduce himself to you._"

The menace in the sentence was clear now, and if the white-headed man didn't turn now, Mariko was actually convinced that Mito would take someone's head off. At least, the burning in her eyes indicated that she would blow up soon. If Mito blew up in any fashion similar to Sumiko, then Mariko would hit the floor and duck for cover. Then again, she'd also heard that Uzumaki tempers were far hotter than any Aokami's could ever be, so the ignition of that flame should send anyone aware of that fact running for a bomb shelter.

"I sure like food, Mito," growled Tobirama. "And, as stated, my name is Tobirama, the brother of that dunce of a Hokage over there."

"Tobirama!" shouted Mito, flaming now. She was rather put off by the fact that Tobirama would string together so many insulting things at once, for he was usually a quiet man with a few sharp remarks. "Behave yourself!"

"I am a grown man, Mito," the white-haired Senju replied tiredly. "I believe I can take care of myself just fine."

"That wasn't what I said."

Tobirama waved it off.

"On second thought, I don't like food so much. Hash, save a bowl of rice for me. I'm leaving."

Hashirama was silent. Then:

"Sit."

Tobirama's face was a mixture of incredulousness and rage.

"Excuse me?"

The combined glares of all Senju clan members present at the table, including Mito, was frightening. When Tobirama didn't budge, Arata stood, and though he wasn't quite as tall as Tobirama, he set a hard hand on the man's shoulder and pushed him down unsympathetically.

"I would like to introduce to you," Arata said through gritted teeth, "two new guests to Konohagakure."

Skillfully ignoring the contempt that the white-haired man was aiming at him, Arata gestured a welcoming hand towards the freckled man and Mariko.

"One is my lovely little sister's future fiancé, Kell from the Tea Country, and the other is the most pleasant woman I've met thus far tonight, _your fiancée_, Aokami Mariko." Arata was met with an approving, short nod from Mito, while Tobirama glowered.

At the moment, all Mariko could think of was that her earlier guesses had been right; Sir Kell across the table was indeed, from the Tea Country. Also, the fact that Etsuko and Arata were siblings didn't come as quite a surprise, and after all, they shared quite a few facial similarities. She began to wonder their relationship with Toka, who had the same pronounced cheekbones and slim, straight jaw.

"Arata, I don't need you to tell me anything," snarled Tobirama under his breath, just loud enough for those directly beside him to hear. That meant, of course, that Mariko heard every threat he whispered to the poor, scarred Senju a seat over.

"Stop being a dick," spat Arata, eyes searching Tobirama's face. "Your future wife is right beside you, don't you wonder what she's thinking? Bad first impression, don't you think?"

At this, Tobirama must've thought up a million replies, but he kept them locked. He wasn't sulking, really, but instead, more exasperated. He looked more tired than angry now, as he leaned back in his chair. Despite the slight alteration of mood, he didn't drop his curt pretense when he turned to her. In any case, had he turned to her with a Hashirama-like smile, she would've been startled anyway. She was a rabbit, jumping at every noise and every little thing that blew across her path.

"I apologize for my sour mood today, Princess," Tobirama told her flatly, sounding not at all like he meant a word, "but circumstances have it that the Hokage and I…are in the middle of a dispute."

"That's unfortunate to hear," Mariko answered softly, unsure of whether her voice was trembling and she sounded weak, or she was shivering all over, causing all sounds to vibrate. "I hope it ends soon, and you work out a solution."

"You and I both." His eyes grazed her face, then, and it seemed oddly as if he didn't know where to look. It suddenly occurred to Mariko that perhaps it as the face pastels he wasn't used to, and was trying to read her expression but failing. It was like looking at a blank piece of paper — the eyes have no point to focus on. Rather dismayed by his lack of interest and the lost look he gave her, barely meeting her eyes, Mariko turned back to her food.

Her slightly demoralized picking at the food did not go unnoticed by Hashirama, ever sensitive to details.

"Tobirama," he said briskly. "You and I will have a talk after this."

"Will we really, brother?" came the annoyed reply. The brunet glared harshly at his younger brother, whose red albino eyes seethed.

"We will. And we will all continue to have pleasant conversations for this celebration," Hashirama answered flatly. After that, he ceased all communications with his brother, who shot angry glares from time to time back at him. Then, in an effort for conversation, Mariko tried again.

"Um," she blurted, then realized that she'd made a mistake. Princess vocabulary didn't have stutters or filler words. She quickly continued, "Out of curiosity, what is your relationship to Toka-san and Arata-san?"

"They're my cousins," Tobirama answered shortly. "Toka and Arata are cousins, and Arata is Etsuko's older brother."

That last part, she'd gathered. Also, the way he glanced at her, then pointedly looked away, implied that he wasn't in the mood for conversation. She dropped it. But then, how was she supposed to meet her new husband? Silence? Nodding? Nothing at all?

Confusion.

_I want to go home_.

* * *

Overhearing conversations seemed to be a penchant for Mariko, because no matter where she went, she happened to run into arguments that she perhaps should not have heard.

After dinner, when most people were up and going for desserts, Tobirama had slunk away, shoulders hunched coldly. Hashirama sat quietly, eating a slice of lemon meringue that looked stunning, in the midst of a lively exchange about different herbs and teas with Kell.

When all was over, Mito softly asked if she'd like to go anywhere, to which Mariko politely declined. From here on, it was quite easy to find the main house and slip to her bedroom. So, planning to take a hot shower and flop comfortably on her bed without the pastels and the tight updo her hair had been pulled into, Mariko left.

As fate would have it, she heard rising voices, and froze to the spot. She was hardly a turn away from the main house, and in the front yard, two familiar voices were throwing harsh words back and forth. One white-haired Senju faced off with his older brother.

"I am disappointed," spat Hashirama, his voice uncharacteristically full of rage. The words were thrown out vehemently, boiling.

"In what?" replied Tobirama, folding his arms in a defensive stance. Mariko could see them around the corner, from where she cowered by a tall brick wall, and the motion was so Katsurou-like that she wanted to curl up. It was almost as if her older brother was there, having a dispute with the First Hokage. However, the voice, the hateful stare, the moon-white hair, all of it was nothing like Katsurou. If Katsurou argued, it was for a good cause, for his family's sake — for her sake.

"Your _fiancée_, was sitting beside you, and you acted like she wasn't there! You rudely addressed me in front of all those people and—"

"Is this about you now? About _your_ appearance, oh mighty Hokage-sama? Tell me, Hashi, has this become all about you?"

"Tobirama! I will _not_ tolerate this behavior from you, and—"

"And _what_?" demanded Tobirama. When Hashirama opened his mouth again, Tobirama snapped, "Silence!" loudly. It was almost shocking, the disrespect one could show to an elder sibling. "You know nothing," hissed Tobirama. "I never wanted to get married in the first place. You _betrayed my trust_, Hashirama, you _married me off like some tool._"

"Not a tool, Tobirama, I—"

"Then explain this! Explain why there's a silent, ghost of a woman living in our house, who doesn't show emotion, and speaks like a robot?! You expect me to live with _that?!_"

"You overreact, Tobi."

"_I _overreact? You chose your wife! Shouldn't I get to choose mine?"

"You haven't thrown such a big tantrum since you were twelve, Tobi."

"Don't get off topic," the albino snarled, stalking up to his older brother and clenching the loose collar in his fist. "You set me up, and you know what? It's the worst set up this damned shinobi world has ever seen."

"You were going to live out your life alone, growing more and more depressed, and eventually creating something that would be your end." Hashirama stared calmly at his younger brother, whose eyes flickered, red pools of hatred. So red, Hashirama painfully thought of the Uchiha, whose love was so strong that it turned into darkness. He wasn't about to let his younger brother fall to a similar fate, forever lost in a dream world, a limbo of despair. Even if he wasn't an Uchiha, he was still susceptible to hatred.

"Now you're getting ahead of yourself," scoffed Tobirama. "You're talking nonsense now, Hashi. Maybe you're the one going insane."

"I'm not. I have Mito to ground me," Hashirama countered calmly. At this, Tobirama's face contorted into an expression of rage. He grabbed Hashirama's shirt with both hands, now, and fiercely shoved his brother against the wall. The impact was so hard, Mariko felt a deep thud from the other side. She bit her lip and slowly sat down, breath held for the longest time. She'd retreated from her peeking position at the edge of the courtyard gate, but now, she tucked herself farther into the shadows, trembling.

"Do you suppose that by sticking a random woman by my side, I'll be grounded? If you want me to see her, then that's the last thing I'll do." There was a sound of rustling, and Mariko assumed the Tobirama had let of Hashirama's collar, for the following footsteps led farther and farther away, as did his voice. "You can send her home."

"I won't."

"Fine, be cruel. Be cruel to both of us."

"You're the one being cruel. You treat her like an object."

"Who's the one treating _who_ like an object?" demanded Tobirama. "Get your head on straight, Hashirama!"

Then, the slam of a door, and silence. An angel passed, it seemed, because the silence was at once light on the hears and heavy on the heart.

Even through the wall, Mariko could feel Hashirama's tiredness. His firm resolve to not move a muscle, even when Tobirama apprehended him. If the younger Senju had struck him, he would not have retaliated. Such was his love for his brother. Mariko could also feel a soft, comforting wave emanating from the Hokage, a quiet, almost consoling emotion. It ran over her nerves and calmed her, her beating heart slowing. It was just like before, when he'd embraced her; she could clearly feel his intentions, his thoughts translating his smile into a sincere welcome.

It occurred to her that it actually was a skill, something that he controlled and sent out. The power of feelings. Could emotions be transmitted through chakra?

She didn't stop to ponder this, because if her hunch was right, then he knew she was behind the wall. He'd known the entire time. However, there was no movement on the other side, even when a branch cracked under her foot. Waiting to see what would happen, Mariko froze. She felt Hashirama shift, then heard him sigh. He seemed undecided. Then, he seemed guilty, apologetic. She realized that he was apologizing to her, a silent message, before he shuffled into the house.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_I've decided to stop counting the days. Each one seems so long. _

_Have you ever overheard something you should've have? I'll admit to you now, Momma, that I've heard lots of things that should've been kept safe from my ears. Including stuff you talk about with Katsurou, Sumi, and Ryo. Sometimes with Dad. Today, I overheard that I've overstayed my welcome — pitiful, right? I've been here all of…not one day._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Six years old and nimble, a silent silhouette padding down the hallways, small enough to hide in corners and disappear behind drapes, Mariko crept. She was up, at the wee hours of two in the morning, simply because Katsurou had never come to bed. She knew, because when she had nightmares, she went to him first. He told her funny stories to put her back to sleep, and then either let her stay in his room or hoisted her back to her own. Ryouichi would read her a book, even if was boring, and she definitely preferred Katsurou's stories. Sumiko tended to tell her to replay her horrors, as if to dissect them and analyze them, so she was the last one Mariko looked for.

Her mother wasn't in her room, either.

So Mariko set off in search for both of them.

Upon passing the palace kitchens, there was a clattering up ahead. Mariko decided to investigate, and the source turned out to be three figures, stances defensive, voices coming through as loud, angry whispers.

One was a tall, lanky boy of about twelve: Katsurou.

Another was a slim brunette: her mother.

Finally, a tall, elegant man who looked ten years less than his true age, with stunning blue hair that failed to gray with time: King Hiroto, her father.

"I will not permit you to learn any more ninjutsu," the king said firmly. He wasn't quite angry, but he was upset. There was a scroll laid on the counter, something scribbled in paint that looked like the characters for Aokami, but Mariko couldn't tell from her distance.

"I will learn, whether you permit it or not," retorted Katsurou. He crossed his arms and made himself as large as possible, shoulders squaring.

"Katsurou, there are risks to ninjutsu," Manami commented quietly. It seemed she was the angriest, but she didn't show it.

"I'm not going to run to the mainland and go on missions, Mother," Katsurou replied. "I won't get killed fighting some rogue nin, don't worry. I just want to learn."

"You will not," repeated King Hiroto, this time his tone taking on a threatening note.

"Didn't _you_ study ninjutsu, Father?" asked Katsurou incredulously. "Why can't I?"

"There are _risks_, Katsurou. For us," the king added quietly. Then: "I will not permit any more learning."

"But I know so much already!" complained Mariko's sapphire-topped brother, throwing his hands up. "I learned the Summoning Jutsu last month, I even made a contract!"

At this, both parents' heads whipped towards him, eyes wide.

"You _what_?" both demanded, advancing on him. The pressure of their stares was so intense, Katsurou shrunk slightly, intimidated. What was wrong with the Summoning Jutsu? Mariko wondered the same thing, from her corner.

"I learned the Summoning Jutsu," he repeated quietly.

"Who did you make a contract with?" King Hiroto asked curtly. He grabbed the scroll on the counter and unraveled it. It was one of his own scrolls, Mariko knew, because she recognized the old blue paper and gold lining from the shelves by his desk. Shelves she only browsed when her mother brought her to the king's office, because she certainly wouldn't go alone; she was a nuisance, most times.

Hiroto made a face and hissed something quietly, eyes running down the scroll's length. He looked up, a fierce glare on Katsurou.

"I contracted w-with a wolf," Katsurou answered as coherently as he could. It wasn't everyday that one heard the Second Prince stutter — he was usually as calm and smug as a young man could get. With his height, tall for his age, Katsurou was usually a strong pillar. However, at the moment, he looked like a shaky, thin maple that would topple at the slightest of wind.

"A wolf, Katsurou," echoed their mother. "Flip it all, child, do you know what you've done?"

"Don't, Manami." Hiroto cast his wife a warning glance, and she shut her mouth. The blue-haired king's expression softened as he reached over to tuck a strand of plain, mousey hair behind her ear. "It's not something to know, not anymore."

"What? What's wrong?" asked Katsurou, slightly panicked. Had he done something wrong? His face was worried.

"Nothing is wrong," King Hiroto stated, "except for the fact that you've learned ninjutsu. Promise me you'll never practice more, and never summon another animal. Especially not a wolf."

"Why not a wolf?"

"Swear to it, boy. No more ninjutsu." Hiroto was tired, and his eyes let the boy know. However, confused and wanting an answer, Katsurou grew frustrated, and refused to comply.

"No."

Both the king and queen looked up suddenly, at the boy's hardening voice.

"Come again?" said Hiroto.

"I will keep practicing ninjutsu, even if you kick me off the island and disown me! I see nothing wrong with learning it," Katsurou stated, as boorishly as he could, voice deepening for the moment. Before her eyes, Mariko saw an uncouth young gentleman, willing to defy his parents reins and break away.

"Katsurou." Voice hard, Hiroto walked up to his son, whose height nearly paralleled his own. "Listen."

"I won't." And with that, Katsurou ran. He shot out the kitchen door, slamming the door behind him, and sprinted down the hall. His long, lanky legs carried him far and fast, easily a colt leaping for freedom. Mariko never thought he was a gazelle — her mother was a gazelle, Sumiko was a gazelle, dancing agilely with precision and speed. But Katsurou was a horse, by blood and by heart, frolicking freely, his decision to break free transforming him into a wild mustang.

Katsurou failed to see his baby sister huddled under a small table, a decorative one hosting a vase of simple flowers that rattled when he rushed past. She remained under the table, breath held.

"Hiro," said Manami, her voice breaking. It almost scared Mariko, to hear her mother's voice so pitifully weak. A thump let her know that the queen had slumped dejectedly into a chair. Mariko peeked round the corner, and watched the following exchange.

"Shh, it's all right," hummed Hiroto. Mariko's eyes widened; she'd never seen a shred of love or empathy from her father, yet here it was, bluntly shown before her. There was a reason why Manami married him, after all.

"We need to tell him," Manami sniffled, crying now into her husband's shirt. He stroked her hair softly, allowing her to tuck her forehead against him. "We need to let him know the dangers. You know how it goes, this island and that wolf."

"I know. But Manami, he's already made a contract."

"You're telling me it's too late."

"Maybe not. _He_ has yet to choose, you know."

Who was "he"? Mariko listened carefully, curious now, but unable to deduce the meaning of the conversation.

"He'll choose soon, Hiro, and it's going to be one of us. What if he takes Sumiko? No, what if he takes Mariko?" The queen was reduced to tears now, clutching the king's hands fiercely, almost protectively. "He's going to take everything."

"No, he only takes one."

"That doesn't make it any better. You should know, he took from you, after all." Manami looked up at her husband, eyes wandering, lost.

"I know."

"And he doesn't make it easy, Hiro. He didn't pick your father, because you were never close to him."

"No, he didn't."

"Don't just agree with me, Hiro. Listen to what I'm saying. He took your mother for a reason. He didn't even go for your sister." Manami took a deep, shuddering breath. King Hiroto had gone silent. There was a brief moment where no words passed, only the soft shush of a husband comforting his wife, one hand holding her to him, the other caressing her cheek. Every motion was foreign to their six-year-old daughter, hiding unbeknownst to them beyond the doorway.

"That doesn't mean he'll take you," Hiroto said softly.

"I know, but even if he does, what will the kids do? No, he'll take whoever is most precious to Katsurou. Does that mean Mariko? Emeralds above, Hiroto, he's going to take Mariko!" Manami stood suddenly, hyperventilating. The king caught her arm and sat her back down slowly.

"No. He won't."

"I'd rather he take me than her," Manami cried.

"There shall be no more talk of this, Manami."

"Hiro, do something," she said, beginning to sob. He cradled her to his chest, murmuring sweet, comforting nothings into her ear, until the shaking of her shoulders faded, and her sobs turned to whimpers, then to silence.

By then, Mariko had already slipped back to her room, silent as a shinobi, her nightmare forgotten.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_One week down. Does this mean I get to go home sooner? Oh wait, the wedding's at the end of the month. Just kidding._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Tobirama had talked to her a few more times, but each time was as brusque and uncivil as the first time. She passed Hashirama each morning, who greeted her with a cheerfully "Good morning, my dear!" but the feelings he gave off were once more apologetic. Mariko began to wonder if she was just ultra-sensitive to the moods of others, but began to doubt it when a wave of emotion that felt oddly like a mischievous wink came over her as she watched Tobirama bite into his breakfast.

"Why is this salty?" he immediately demanded. There was laughter, accompanied by a snort, from Hashirama, who wiggled his eyebrows at Mariko. Mariko, unsure of what to do, offered a smile. No one could quite tell she was smiling — each day saw the dutiful adherence to a painted appearance — but the twinkle in her eyes reassured him.

Mito chuckled and slapped the albino on the back. He glared.

"You are such a pessimist," she scolded. He rolled his eyes. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"You know, I expected you to be the funny little brother, and you know what happened?" Mito poked Hashirama's shoulder. "_This_ one turns out to be the idiot."

"Wow, you actually agree with me," Tobirama deadpanned.

"No, he's _my _idiot, I love him, and he's quite smart, really."

Tobirama rolled his eyes again, because that made little to no sense. Mariko smiled beneath her mask, before gracefully shoving a tasty biscuit into her mouth, still ladylike all the way.

When Tobirama left, Mariko dared to open her mouth.

"Is it possible for chakra to transmit emotion?" she said bluntly.

"No, but it's possible to send messages, like mental communication," Mito replied.

"But not feelings?"

"Sensing feelings is a skill that is based on chakra receptors," Mito informed her calmly, sounding very professional. "We have seals that can alter even the flow of mental thoughts, if need be."

It all sounded complicated, but still intriguing. Still, Mariko wanted to know how it was that Hashirama was telling her these random little bits of information her or there. When his gaze shifted to Tobirama's plate and the flutter of emotion crossed her, she'd known that something was up. However, whether or not he'd sent such an emotion or not, she was still debating. That night in the courtyard, it could've very well been his own guilt for himself, something not directed at her at all.

"Perhaps," Hashirama said, "you have been sensing emotions? It is not unlike sensing different chakras. If you can sense feelings, it is most likely you are picking up on fluctuations in chakra waves. It takes a lot of perception however, to do so. Unless you're naturally a genius."

A kind smile. Mariko was confused again. She couldn't tell whether she was picking up on his kindness, his warmth, or he was sending her a subtle cue informing her that he knew that she knew that he was giving messages. That train of thought jumbled her thoughts and made little sense, so she dropped it and tried a different subject.

"Do you think I could see Arata-san's horses?" she inquired, sweetly and politely. Sweetness had always been a helping hand in her case, for she was small and had a candy smile (even through her pastels, of course).

"Mariko, you don't have to _ask_, just go!" Mito exclaimed.

"I don't know where it is," she admitted.

"Fire, my dear, it's right in the complex! I'll show you the way." After cleaning up the dishes, Hashirama set off on what he deemed his new quest — the stables.

The sweet smell of hay and the familiar horsey noises was an immediate comfort, smoothing Mariko's frayed nerves and relaxing her all over. She wondered why she hadn't come here earlier, the week before. Then again, she'd been learning every single place on Konoha's map, courtesy of Etsuko, who was an overly excited tour guide.

"Mariko-hime!" called Arata, rather pleased to see her. "Come here, I was just about to take out one of my horses."

"Your two colts, right?" asked Hashirama. He strode up to one of them, and the chestnut nuzzled him, ears pricked. Animals seemed to like the Hokage; Mariko found this to be an excellent quality.

"Always glad to see you, Hashirama." Arata smiled and continued about how well his friend's filly was taking to halter, and how his own colts were learning to trot circles under saddle, though not under rider quite yet. Hashirama took his leave, needing to attend to other business, leaving the two horse people to chat away.

"He's got a lovely stride," Mariko said, taking delight in the way the first colt strode out evenly. He still had lanky shoulders and a straight, skinny neck, but he showed promise. The second horse, a similarly built colt, was a slightly more reddish shade of chestnut, and had a wide blaze down his nose. He liked to play more, and refused to trot in a nice circle around Arata. Instead, he came nosing for treats constantly.

"This one's got a lovely stride too, but he's always distracted," admitted Arata, laughing when the animal snuffled his pockets. "I've got no treats, silly!"

The dark-haired Senju laughed, pushing away the horse's nose gently. Mariko was completely and utterly happy, watching her new friend and fellow horse lover. She was comfortable, leaning on the fence then, watching him play tag with the mischievous colt, who had snatched his gloves from a coat pocket, and was flinging them about from his teeth.

Then, across the way, a pair of eyes, red and disgusted. Mariko didn't see him, but she felt his glare. When she looked up to meet those garnet eyes, she shrunk back. She wasn't quite sure why he was there, or why he happened to see her. All she knew was that after his argument with his brother, his opinion of her had become one of revulsion. As if he wondered why she was still here, in his home, living with them.

Tobirama spared her, quickly disappearing.

* * *

So. Long. Phew! Thoughts, comments, other things?

How am I doing?

Is it boring? I really hope it's okay... Why is the Naruto world so hard to write?

Characters, I mean. I get really impatient with conversations, lol. Must think about them harder.


	4. Puzzles

Please tell me how I'm doing guys, I want to know if this was too rushed.

Also, the morning scene is fully written in _Allegro_ by Azure Raindrops. This here is all Mariko's point of view and reflection. Also, pleaseeee tell me if this was too sudden of a change, is it weird, is anyone OOC? Lemme know, I'll eat up all your comments to improve!

**Disclaimer: **Naruto's not mine, because Neji and Tenten are never, ever, ever...getting back together ~ Like, ever.

**Note: Guys want to see Mariko? _art/Morning-Tobirama-and-Mariko-337277669_**

**This link! **Paste it in after equestrian - equine. deviantart

without spaces, of course (fanfiction doesn't allow link posting)

* * *

**Chapter 4: ****Puzzles**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Is it pitiful that I've begun counting days again, even though I told myself not to? It's not like I'm counting down or counting up to anything. Unless you count my wedding. But then again, letters from both Sumi and Katsurou arrived, requesting extension till the wedding date, because they can't make it in time. I'm quite relieved for that. Ryo has said nothing, but a package did come in the mail from him. Technically, from Aunt Tari. It makes me unbelievably happy to receive something from her. It's beautiful – a hair clip in the shape of hibiscus petals, pink, orange, red, and purple like a sunset. I think I'll start wearing it, because I don't put much color on my pastels anyway._

_ I mentioned counting days. I'm on week three. By the way, this so-called husband of mine has been awful, in my opinion, so far. It seems he and the Hokage have had a nasty argument, but it's been weeks, and they've softened. Just a little. At least he talked to me more than once this week. That has to count, right? _

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Tobirama did, in fact, become a bit mollified. His stubborn refusal to meet Hashirama's gaze and his sorely meager attempts to continue conversation were small improvements, to say the least. He still gave the impression that he'd rather be alone, and that Mariko should just go back to Hurricane. He never said it outright, of course.

On the other hand, Mariko had a grand time in the stables, where she went nearly every day. She would've been delighted to marry Arata, something she quietly confided to him one evening while he saddled one of his chestnuts. Bashfully, he admitted that he was nothing but a foot soldier for the Senju in reality; not as strong as Toka, but only good at strategic planning.

"That makes you a general, doesn't it?" Mariko suggested. "Not a pawn to be played by a clan."

He looked up. "Thank you, Princess," he replied softly. "It warms my heart to know there's someone who appreciates people for who they are, and not for their power."

This made Mariko wonder. Was Konoha a village based on power? She wouldn't like to think so, but it seemed Arata had enough to worry about.

"Well, to put it more cleanly, I'm more of a regular working class man, a simple shinobi who does jobs for a living," he explained. "I'm not a nobleman."

"Then what about Toka? Isn't she your cousin?"

"Ah, but her father was a nobleman. And she herself is a top-notch kunoichi, far above my rank."

This made little sense to Mariko, for a family was a family, was it not? And if the Senju clan was all one gigantic family, then they should treat one another as mostly equals. Sure, there were the high-class branches and the ruling house, but it should be a peaceful place. Arata should have no need to feel inferior in a negative way.

"My Lady, would you like to ride with me today?" Arata asked suddenly. Mariko agreed, of course, a bright smile lighting up her face. "We can take a stroll through the village. Let me introduce you to a fine gelding, right here."

Mariko took the brushing and saddling into her own hands, for she felt this was important. Horsemanship included everything on the horse, and off the horse as well. The dark bay gelding, not very tall but sturdy in build, amiably bumped her shoulder with his muzzle. She petted him and got down to preparing for a ride.

Trotting down a less crowded street of Konoha, Arata pointed out some interesting things that Mito hadn't gone into.

"That right there, that flower shop," he called over his shoulder, pointing down a the way. "That is the finest one in the village, by my opinion. The storekeeper knows what flowers mean what, even if you don't."

"And that means?"

"If your wife is angry, she has just the thing." Arata flashed a grin, and Mariko returned it. Arata seemed to naturally pick up on her moods, without the help of facial expressions, since they were obscured by her now everyday pastels. If anything, the pastels were making her skin softer and cleaner, for they were made of natural elements.

"If my horse is hungry, does she have something for him as well?" she joked lightly. Arata laughed, patting his young colt on the neck.

"This one might just take off an entire bouquet," he returned. The young colt was learning to deal with many sights and sounds, his ears twirling constantly to pick up all the interesting noises. Once or twice he spooked, but they were little jumps, just miniature surprises that weren't too startling.

However, upon a merchant's cart crashing over and vegetables spilling disastrously across the road, the colt reared. This was the lighter chestnut colt, not the reddish one that liked to play. He was much more skittish, and quick to flight.

Taken by surprise, the abruptness of the event too quick to process, Arata was thrown from the saddle. Mariko exclaimed something, she couldn't really remember what, and caught up to his side. Knocked breathless, Arata lay on his back, momentarily stunned. Then, he chuckled, pushed himself upright, and rubbed his midnight head of hair.

"That was embarrassing," he said, brushing himself off. He looked down the road, where the chestnut was wreaking havoc, tossing his head and galloping down the avenue. Several shopkeepers tried calming the animal, making little tut-tut noises and cooing and clicking in hopes of settling the horse. Their efforts in vain, the colt kicked out and thundered back up the street. He shied at the sight of the fallen cart again, seemingly perplexed by his situation. _Why am I back here again?!_ The colt seemed to be contemplating a route of escape, away from his dangers and fears.

"Silly thing," Arata chuckled. He approached the horse, but the colt leapt backwards and shot away with a mighty kick. "At least I know he can jump now," said Arata as the colt vaulted over another market vendor's wheeled cart.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Mariko demanded, still in shock, pretty much rooted to the spot. "You had me worried sick!"

"My apologies, Mariko-hime," replied Arata sheepishly. "I'm quite used to it."

"It's still dangerous."

"I know. Let's catch this ridiculously hyper colt, shall we?" he suggested, pushing past fallen melons and cucumbers. The shop vendor apologized numerous times, but Arata simply told him everything was fine, as well as assisting in the gathering of vegetables.

The colt, meanwhile, put everyone on edge down the street.

"I'll see if I can corner him," Mariko said, beginning to trot her gelding over.

"Wait, hime," called Arata, but he was already out of earshot. At the moment, the princess was his responsibility, and he was not about to let her get thrown from a horse, should the bay gelding pick up on the colt's spooked frenzy. The sturdy mount was not known to bolt, but there was always a risk with equines.

As feared, the colt lunged at the gelding, ears flattened to his neck. He nipped Mariko's horse on the rump, sending him into an angry kicking spar. Mariko attempted to rein her horse away, but the colt pursued, as if trying to convince the older horse to bolt away with him. She couldn't dismount, nor could she ride away.

The chestnut began rearing, frightening the older gelding, who responded by bucking a few times. Mariko clung to the horse like a burr, the gripping muscles in her legs automatically responding from years and years of riding. Sharp hooves came dangerously near her face, and the colt was now snorting angrily, a demon come over him. Arata's voice echoed from a distance, but she didn't hear a word.

All she saw was a calm, white-headed figure, slipping through the crowd like a ghost, and all of a sudden, the colt was calm, breathing heavily into the man's chest. Her own gelding pricked his ears at the albino, who took hold of her reins gently.

"Quiet," he told the horse. Almost like magic, the gelding took a deep, shuddering breath, and stood still. The colt trailed behind the man, quiet and sheepish. "Arata," called Tobirama. "Your colt."

"I should name him after you, shouldn't I?" Arata said, striding up to them. "He likes you."

"He likes carrots," Tobirama answered simply, pulling a handful of baby carrots from his chest pocket and letting the young horse snuffle them up. When Mariko's gelding whickered, he snatched up an apple that had rolled away from a cart, shined it on his shirt front, and then let him crunch into it.

"True," Arata agreed. "Not as much as his friend, though."

"The red one you have? That's also true," replied Tobirama, stroking the gelding's dark ears. "By the way, Toka was looking for you," he added simply. "She wants to know when you'll be back."

"We should be going now," Arata answered. "I'll go back to the complex and meet up with her. What does she want?"

"She's not at the complex, she's at the Hokage Tower. I'll tell her you're going back," Tobirama told his cousin. He lifted a hand, signaling his departure.

"T-Tobirama!" Mariko suddenly called, suddenly bold, and suddenly terrified. Why had she done that? No honorifics, no nothing, just an out-of-the-blue exclamation to the man that was supposed to be her fiancé.

He turned.

"Thank you," she said, softer now. The nod he gave her was subtle, but it meant that he saw her. It was enough.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ There is not a day where my supposed husband doesn't ignore me. But there is also not a day where he at least attempts to make a comment or reply to me. Week four starts today. Isn't that impressive? Did you talk at all to Father your first month in Esmeralda? I would think so. I think I've said a total of maybe five or six things to this man, who is as ghostly as his hair. I've said something about hoping to resolve an argument, I've thanked him for calming my horse, and I've said little things, stupid things like "How is the weather?" when I can clearly stick my head outside. He probably thinks I'm bizarre._

_ I think I'm bizarre, too._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The weather in Konoha was not quite the same as Hurricane, yet occurred in similar patterns. The early summer clouds didn't bring much rain, but there was a small drizzle the weekend before. Mariko found herself staring outside her bedroom window, because there were little rabbits in the garden, nibbling on something too small for her to see. They were quite amusing, these rabbits, dull, brown, and small. The ones in Hurricane were mostly white, some of them gray, but never brown or black. They were also much larger and fatter, probably because the kids liked feeding them.

Mariko brought them up at lunch.

"Those things are such nuisances," Mito complained immediately. "They eat my vegetables, but they're too adorable to get rid of."

"You're soft," Tobirama commented plainly. Mito glared.

"Would you kill one of those sweet bunnies, Tobirama?" Hashirama retorted. Tobirama glared. Mariko allowed herself a small smile.

"O-ho, got you there," exclaimed a fifth party quite jovially. Everyone looked up to find themselves staring at man Mariko would come to know as Sarutobi Sasuke, father of that mischievous boy dallying around their table that first day.

Almost comically, he rapped his knuckles on the doorframe briskly.

"Sorry Mito, forgot to knock, didn't I? Old habit." A sharp grin made him look uncannily like his son. "Who do we have here? A blunette! We don't see lots of bright blunettes around here, do we? We've got them crazy Kiri nin, but they look like something a turtle puked up, to be honest."

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard," Mito laughed. "Sasuke, what brings you here today?"

The funky, optimistic man propped himself up against the doorway.

"Have your monkey cousins called?" deadpanned Tobirama. His eyes and face revealed nothing, stony as ever, but the slight lilt to his voice indicated it was a joke. Mariko found this incredibly hard to read; she nearly took him seriously.

"Ah, Sir Tobirama, of course you'd ask," Sasuke snorted in a snobbish accent. The glint in his eyes was evident. "My father, the monkey king, gives his best regards, while my mother, the woman who swings from branches, wants to know how her grandson Hiruzen is doing under the care of a boorish Senju like you."

"Let her know he's doing smashingly fine," drawled Tobirama, swirling his coffee in its mug.

"Splendid. Any-who, I'm here to ask why Danzo has been hanging around our clan complex. Ideas, ideas, anyone with ideas?" Sarutobi Sasuke waved his hand nonchalantly in the air, as if fishing for the very answers he sought. Hashirama's eyebrows rose in slight surprise, then lowered again, befuddled.

"I can't imagine why," he told the Sarutobi. "Is he depressed? Toka didn't say anything, so I assumed he was fine."

Worry stemmed from the brunet's slightly hunched shoulders. Mariko wondered now; was this intentional? Was it her own power, instead? Why couldn't she sense the feelings of Mito, or Tobirama, then?

"I don't know. If he was a cheerful lad, I'd say he and Hiruzen were plotting something dastardly in my own backyard," mused Sasuke, rubbing his stubbly chin. "Maybe a jutsu that transforms you into a monkey." A wink at Tobirama, who shook his head and amusedly sipped his coffee.

"I thought we got over his dark ages…well, _ages_ ago," answered Hashirama. He glanced at his younger brother, who shook his head, equally perplexed (though he didn't show anything that proved it).

"See if he comes again this week," Mito suggested. "I'll ask Toka about it."

"Thank you, m'darling," said Sasuke, lifting a hand in salutation. He slipped away, and Mariko caught a glimpse of him leaping to the trees bordering the complex and swinging away, nimble as a chimp.

"He really is a monkey, that one," sighed Tobirama, sitting up and screeching his chair back horribly.

"My floor, Tobi, my floor," complained Mito against the grating noise.

"Honey, that's literally my heart he's scraping away right there," Hashirama joked. He turned to Mariko, and explained: "Tobirama used to chip away at our wood floors just to annoy me, and then I had to grow the wood back or he'd tattle that I was destroying property to our parents."

"You were weak," Tobirama sneered, a slight grin pulling at his mouth. It was a cold feeling, though, a slick, almost disapproving scorn.

"I was the nice kid," Hashirama replied straightforwardly. It was easily a conversation they'd had before. Tobirama chuckled slightly, a new expression for Mariko to see, and left quietly.

"Mariko," Hashirama called, voice suddenly somber. His eyes were lowered, and he looked uncomfortable. No, no quite uncomfortable, but sad.

"Yes?"

"I apologize for my brother," he told her quietly. "He hasn't been quite social, has he?"

Mariko was silent. Hashirama took this as a yes.

"He…was always a stoic boy, and he has past issues of his own. Sometimes he fooled around in the wrong places, the dark corners of Konoha and the vices that an older brother never wants to see his younger fall to. So I got angry at him, one day, and attempted to pull him out. He was fooling around with women, with money — I'll have you know, I'm the big sucker when it comes to gambling, right honey? —" Hashirama threw a wan smile at Mito, who patted his hand reassuringly. "—but he was also starting to become isolated. He used to spar with Uchiha Izuna, but ever since Izuna lost his eyes, he turned away from that clan entirely. Disgust, mostly, is what I feel coming off him."

Hashirama paused. Mariko found herself with questions, far too many to put into words. Who, exactly, was Izuna, and why did he lose his eyes? Tobirama, fooling around? Almost seemed unlikely in her eyes. And what past issues did he have? Some sort of dark past?

Hashirama continued before she could sort her thoughts.

"So the day I got angry, I also received three letters: all alliance proposals, with the possibility of marriage." Hashirama had some difficulty now, the guilt in his voice laden with sorrow. "And I decided, far too hastily, and…"

"Honey," Mito cut in. Hashirama shook his head. His usually sparkling eyes, full of wonder and cheer, were heavy. When he rose them to meet Mariko's stunned gaze, she knew — the emotions poured across her like a broiling sea, riled by the wind and the storm. Overwhelming.

"The Wave Country offered the daimyo's daughter, but she was hardly twelve. Tobirama nears twenty-six. The Tea Country had a male second heir, whom you know to be Kell. Finally, your nation, Hurricane, offered…you." He looked almost helpless. No, Mariko corrected herself again. Horribly ridden with guilt and regret. "You were closer in age to Tobirama, and by the looks of it, I nearly assumed that you were probably miserable as fourth child, stuck on the island. I guessed wrong, didn't I? So much for my people skills."

Now the uncharacteristic hurt of this powerful, optimistic man was scaring her. She was seeing a shell of the great Hashirama, not the legendary god of shinobi. Some subconscious specter of him was speaking to her. This was not the Hokage, not at all.

But Mariko was frozen as well, caught halfway in between a dream-world and her own body. The words were pulling her away, but his voice was grounding her.

"I was not going to marry a poor twelve-year-old to a man more than twice her age, but I never really thought about…" Hashirama let the sentence dwindle, for her to understand. The blunette understood completely. She also sensed that the _darkness_ that he implied was reaching farther than just money and women. He feared true loss, something so dangerous that the wrong path would lead to an irreversible future. Somewhere within her, Mariko had this feeling. Someone she knew had gone down this path, or was currently going down it. If she were in the Hokage's place, she would've done all in her power to protect Tobirama. She knew the importance of family.

"Kell is engaged to Etsuko, as you know," Hashirama continued. "You, my dear, are sentenced here to a stay. I hope it's not too bad, though Tobirama—"

"We are sorry, Mariko." Mito grasped her husband's hand firmly, and put into simple words what he was trying to overcome. "We are sorry for bringing you here, for it was not your intention, nor was it Tobirama's."

"_I_, truly, am sorry," murmured the brunet Senju. He looked into her eyes, stronger now. "What I have done is not undoable, and I ask your forgiveness. Tearing you away from your home was my doings fully. Let me take responsibi—"

"It may be undoable," Mariko suddenly interrupted, "but it is amendable. Hokage-sama, I will not allow you to take any blame. If I had wanted to abandon this alliance, I would have long since run away. And I'm here now — your village is beautiful. Even if Tobirama never accepts me, I will not be unhappy."

The expression that claimed Hashirama's handsome features was overpowering, so relieved and tearful he was. Mariko tried to send a mental message: It was not his fault. Nothing was his fault. Maybe it didn't go through, but she'd made her point.

"I will do everything in my power," he said. Then, corrected himself as Mito glanced over: "_Our _power, to make you love this village. It is your new home, Princess. It will never replace your old one, but I hope you will accept us as well."

_Please accept us — we want to be your family as well._

This concept, a new one that entered freshly into Mariko's mind, was a pleasant one. Family. She liked this, and was willing to open her arms to the Senju. Or, to put it the other way, they were willing to embrace her into their village.

She was happy, but at the same time, shatteringly sad.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ What is embarrassment? What is a mistake? Was it a mistake to get up before sunrise and find a piano — a _piano_ of all things — smack dab in the middle of a house you thought you'd explored already? Rocks, Momma, it was a _piano! _I'm wondering why I didn't see it before. But the worst part was, I was caught, and after that, I ran. I _ran_, and now I have no idea what I'm doing. No idea at all._

_ Zip._

_ Is this the feeling of being one-upped, or is this just pure humiliation?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The moment the door clicked open behind her, her fingers flew off the keys and froze in midair.

The following exchange happened like a dream; she wished it was a dream.

He'd never even _talked _to her, and when he did, it was short and curt and of no importance at all. Even so, every time she attempted to make conversation, she babbled and stuttered, as if eighteen years of speech and etiquette classes had just been thrown out the window, a twenty-story high window, and squashed on the ground like a pitifully dropped egg.

This time was no better.

First, he knew her name. That was a given. He stated it like he would say "That is a chicken over there, in its coop."

He'd scrutinized her, like the head guard of Emerald palace would scrutinize a new soldier. Mariko thought that Arr, the eighty-year-old head of palace security, was quite the intimidating man when it came to battle. However, he was like a grandfather to Mariko, having watched her (and all her siblings) grow up in the palace. He was nothing like this cold, calculating Senju, who folded his arms and stood in a stance so much like Katsurou that Mariko wanted to slap him and tell him to stop impersonating her brother.

The next part was horrendous. If she had the guts and the willpower, and was not so restrained by those eighteen years of princess protocol, she would've done more than just try to kick him. But then again, she'd kicked him (almost). That, in itself, made her want to bury herself under a mountain of pillows and punch herself in the head. _Idiot, idiot, idiot_, she berated herself, shuddering.

"Yes, yes I've got a face," she muttered, huddling on her bed, arms wrapped around herself. Had he insinuated that she hadn't a face under her…he'd called her pastels _makeup_. Was that supposed to be offensive, or ignorant, or what?

Then, she'd tried to kick him. Of all the possible things, she tried to kick him. After her retort, he promptly returned by flat out calling her "weird", and she'd lashed out like a tetchy mare. But with far less animal grace. He was a shinobi, of all things, a shinobi! Why did she try to attack a shinobi? Why did she attack anyone at all?

Questions, incessant, annoying, panicky, running all through her head at once.

Her thoughts went into a rambling frenzy.

She'd snapped, in the most unladylike fashion the world had ever seen, that _he_ was the bizarre one here. Self-defense, verbally, but idiotic, action-wise. Mariko moaned and crashed backwards onto her bed. It was what, almost six o'clock now? Would it be all right to get up again, or should she refrain from showing her face?

Casually, as if he'd been having conversations with her every single day of her month's stay so far, he inquired about her playing skills.

"I can play everything you can't," Mariko hissed into her pillow, flipping so that she was facing down. "I can play things that are far more elegant and powerful than any of your stupid shinobi jutsus."

Now she was just bashing ninjas. What happened to the soft, glowing admiration she had for shinobi ninjutsu? She recalled Katsurou, one glittering evening, standing knee-deep in the calmer area of the pond that pooled from the waterfall. Around his arms, rising to circle high above his head, a dragon made purely of water, rising from the depths of the falls behind him. She thought she'd imagined it — a simple stride put Katsurou _on top_ of the water — but she'd refused to believe her eyes. Now, she wondered if ninjas really walked on water. It seemed probable; after all, Hashirama could grow trees from nothing.

What then?

He offered her a seat.

Perfectly gentleman, unlike anything she'd ever seen out of him before. Embarrassed, bewildered, and completely lost — something she refused to show — she angrily brushed him off, stalking out of the room. Stalked? Mariko didn't _stalk_. Princesses don't _stalk_. She repeated angry comments that burnt her own skin, over and over, scolding herself. They might as well send her back to Hurricane now. She wouldn't have been disappointed.

As she left, he dropped her a dry comment about letting them know of a 4 AM concert should she fail to fall back asleep next time. She stopped short of banging the door shut loudly.

_…not such a sore sight…_

Mariko slammed the thought out of her head. Vehemently, she curled up tighter and pressed her face into the soft cotton of her pillow.

What did he think he was doing?

Who did he think he was?

Why was he being nice to her?

Was that even counted as being nice?

Had he just called her pretty? No. Impossible. Every single time his words, echoing insistently in her head, knocking for entrance to her brain, she shoved them out with as much mental strength as she could summon. No.

_No_ rang through her head repeatedly. She hadn't heard those words, she tried to tell herself. He hadn't said, _You're not such a sore sight beneath all the make-up_. That was the opposite of anything Tobirama would ever say.

After process of elimination — it wasn't Tobirama, it wasn't a ghost, and it wasn't a crazy Hozuki come to get her — Mariko decided that it was her imagination. Solely imagination. Unless a Hozuki had _possessed_ Tobirama, then there was no way from here to Hurricane and back that he'd said kind words to her. After all, simply moments before, he'd insulted her.

No, she'd insulted him.

He said _what_ about her? No, that couldn't be right, she called him weird! Why was he weird, again?

"Rocks", she muttered to herself miserably. "Princess my foot."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ It is currently 6:30 AM in this lovely Village Hidden in the Leaves. The village is lovely, but I am not. I'd like to rewind, oh, maybe six years, to when you were alive. Maybe then I would feel better about all this. And maybe you'd be able to help me, and I'd never marry this complex, puzzle of a man._

_ Was he trying to be nice, or not?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Breakfast, seven o'clock on the dot. So exact, a befuddled old rooster, perched atop a small coop, began calling, and the clock on the wall in the kitchen struck the hour.

Worst of all, the only one at this unusually early breakfast was Tobirama, to Mariko's horror.

"Morning."

More friendly greetings. Was he trying to confuse her? The blunette took on a wary defensive, a little more than startled. Again, she wanted to kick herself as she'd tried to kick him. Why was she so skittish all of a sudden? Speak like a child that's been brought up correctly, you silly thing. Seriously, of all things to do, you spook?

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I have," Mariko deadpanned.

"Ah, you have a sense of humor, ghost-face."

Another jab at her pastels, which she'd slathered on quickly. She hadn't bothered with much else, only a slab of dark around her eyes — effectively turning her into a raccoon — and an uneven jab of red over her nose. The hasty job did, in fact, make her look like a phantom, but despite this, how was he to tell her expression solely from a mysterious, expressionless mask of white?

"So do you, ghost-hair." That was the weakest, lamest comeback ever. Katsurou would have laughed, and loudly, too.

"Weak," he drawled, in a similar manner he had when talking to Hashirama. He stirred his coffee, and slid a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. His eyes traveled to the clock on the wall, as if he was contemplating something awfully deep. Then: "You cold? Early mornings get chilly."

Her inner self was aggravated at his kindness. Just the day before, he'd hardly looked at her. Well, she would have to correct this statement. The first day, the first week, he'd been cold and closed. The second week, he'd glared at her, as if she was the cause of all his troubles; which she probably was. After that, he'd accepted a blundering thanks with a nod, wordless. Throughout that week, he held simple conversations, short, but substantially longer than the usual.

And now he spoke to her like she was a human being, although grudgingly.

"No. Hurricane gets colder," she answered lightly.

"Hurricane seems interesting," he said. His tone was flat. She couldn't tell if he was joking, making a jab at her home, or stating a simple opinion. She watched his eyes.

"So is Konoha," she decided to throw back, just to see his reaction. His reaction through her off completely.

"Oatmeal?" Tobirama raised his bowl in a gesture. Mariko kept herself grounded to the spot, just so she wouldn't bolt for the hills.

She asked, plainly: "Why are you suddenly talking to me?"

The expression she received was one of mild surprise, accompanied by a slight clink and thud as he set down the bowl. It was cleaned. Saying nothing, he stood up, brushed past her, and went to the sink to begin rinsing his dishware.

"Maybe I felt like being nice."

"You don't talk to me."

"Now I do."

"You don't want to."

The glare she received startled her more than his strange behavior. She had hit the mark, and now his temper had clicked. Something about his greetings had made her feel like Hashirama was behind them, and she was right. The jokes and dry humor were all his, but the talking was the Hokage's doing.

"And if it's true that I don't want to talk to you? What would you do?"

"What I've been doing for a month," she answered simply. Not so hungry anymore, she stepped outside. There was nothing she could really do for herself in the kitchen, anyway.

* * *

"Miss, Miss, Miss."

"_Miss_."

"_Misssssss_."

"She's not listening to you, you idiot."

"_Miss Blue-haired Lady!_"

"I told you, Hiruzen, she's—"

Mariko turned, not realizing that they were calling her. Three children, sitting at the edges of the Senju complex, looking rather bored. They were trying to entertain themselves with a simple guessing game, but they tired of it easily. There were two boys and one girl, all around ten or eleven. Mariko recognized the one boy, the brown-haired child who had taken a seat with them for a few moments during the Hokage's party. He was the spitting image of his father, the boisterous Sarutobi Sasuke of the week before.

"I'm sorry, were you calling me?" When she turned, the other two had facial expressions of wonder, eyes widening at her pale, painted face.

"Miss, you have pretty eyes," the boy blurted. This was a pleasant surprise, and Mariko smiled warmly at him. He smiled back. She now wondered how much her poor paint job was concealing her face. What if she'd missed a step and it was peeling off her face like some horrible mask?

"It's Lady Princess, Hiruzen," said the third child flatly. He had darker brown hair that Hiruzen, and wore large, rectangular glasses, which were constantly slipping down his nose. The motion he used to tip the bridge of his spectacles back up his nose was familiar, endearing almost. Like Ryouichi at his desk, absently pushing his glasses back up without realizing it when they fell again.

"Lady Princess," inquired Hiruzen. "Would you know where to find Tobirama-sensei?"

The girl threw the talkative boy one last glare, before examining Mariko from head to toe. She was a child, but the way she assessed Mariko was unsettling. The blunette supposed that the eyes of a kunoichi, even a young one, were already used to calculating threat, no matter what form it came in.

"He should be in the kitchen," Mariko replied, stuffing her hands in her pockets. She'd thrown on an old jacket, a riding sweater that she'd borrowed from Arata. Time and time again, it was like she was engaged to Arata and not the white-haired Senju that the children sought. "I'm not sure if he's still there, though," she added quickly. "You want me to check?"

"That would be—"

"Unnecessary, Lady Princess," the girl put in before Hiruzen could give his two cents. "We're used to finding him on our own."

Mariko wasn't sure whether or not to take offense at the girl's brusqueness, her slight arrogance, and her haughty eyes. She shrugged to herself and continued on her way, glancing down at herself. Realizing how sloppy she looked, she sighed. An old jacket smelling of horse, with patched pockets and dirtied sleeves over an orange shirt that used to be Katsurou's, plus dark, stretchy leggings that she'd found in her bag? Not quite pleasing to the eye, she supposed. Yet, the boy had complimented her eyes, looking to her face and not to her clothes. Intriguing.

In Hurricane, she recalled sniggering at the Hozuki nobleman's awful Kirigakure pinstripe attire, and then later mentioning his peculiarly shaped facial hair. They'd studied Mito's hair and her elegant swirl-patterned dress, designs fluent in the ways of Uzu. They considered their own clothing, because Sumiko liked to preach good fashion. Then again, Sumiko was particular to a fault on these subjects.

"He's not here!" came the wail. Mariko looked back. The children were sulking outside the kitchen's door to the courtyard, contemplating on where to look next.

All of a sudden, Tobirama was on the other side of her, slipping through the door to her wing of the house. She was about to turn and call out to the children — she was a good child, a helpful girl — but a hand whipped out from behind that same door and pulled her inside.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, alarmed. Then it was Tobirama, and in closer quarters, he towered over her, an immense structure of hard muscle and man.

"Quiet," he shushed her. Her face twisted into an unladylike, unrefined little scowl. It was the face she made in the mirror, and then was told not to make. "I don't want them finding me," he said, peering out the window. "Those brats."

"Well, there's a reason they're looking for you," Mariko justified.

"I know, they want me to teach them how to summon things," he muttered, watching the kids tramp over to a gate, where they entered another part of the Senju clan complex.

"Teach?"

"Yeah, they're my kids."

"Kids?"

Tobirama looked down at Mariko dubiously, a terribly amused smirk surfacing on his lips. "Yeah," he scoffed. "My students."

"Oh." That explained their dubbing him "sensei". Mariko felt awfully dull now, and wished she was sharper in the head at this time. Mornings were not her time of day, and thinking too early — it was what, still only around seven? — was not her cup of tea. Her lessons in Hurricane always began after eight, and even then, she'd probably had a good amount of sleep to fuel her.

"Since you have no interest in speaking to me, nor I to you, I will be leaving," she quipped lightly, breaking from his grip. She hadn't realized that his hand was still wrapped around her wrist from pulling her inside the door.

"Snarky little princess, aren't you?" he sneered. He folded his arms, and again, she wanted to slap the Katsurou like tilt to his torso right out of his bones. He arched a brow, daring her to fight back.

"Snarky as a ghost can get," she remarked. "As a fellow ghost, you should understand."

"Oh? What other nicknames have you made for me, do tell." A glance out the window, and once he was sure the kids were gone, he repositioned himself so that he blocked her way to her room. Perfect. And, judging from his carefully relaxed posture, he was doing it on purpose. What was this, really? Mariko wondered if this was some sort of game: Ignore the blue-haired girl for a month, suddenly talk to her, and then play with her to see how amusing she was? Two could play at this game.

"I have made hardly any nicknames for you," she answered. "Toka calls you a…hold on, what was it? Oh yes, a bumbling nugget head."

"Typical," he snorted, shaking his head. His tall frame was blocking the hall, but maybe, if she was fast enough she could dart around the side…

But that was his plan. He was waiting to see if she was foolish enough to try. Mariko, with all her princess brain, thought hard. All she could think of was how to walk straight and smile straight, the epic history of ancient naval battles against Kirigakure, and the current inflation and labor strikes in the Wave Country. Nothing came to her in the form of a strategy; that was more Katsurou's thing.

She took a step back, and to her amusement, he followed. He wasn't about to let her run backwards, either, and even if he tried, two strides would catch him up to her. Then what? Should she try?

She tried.

Indeed, a few seconds had her caught, and he spun her around easily. Mariko huffed, and he refolded his arms. It was a dance between lion and lion tamer, but Mariko wasn't quite sure who was who in this scenario. Was she the lion, and he the tamer? She wasn't about to be tamed, rest assured. Perhaps he was the lion, and this was her strategic experimentation, as the lion mistress?

"You do realize that your room is behind me?" he asked, quite flippantly. The corner of his lips twitched in a brash smirk.

"I do," she answered carefully. "And if I want to go this way?"

"You'll end up in the laundry room." He waved nonchalantly. "Maybe, if you throw in some fabric softener and a colored shirt, you might not be so pale."

She glared.

"Ooh, glaring at me now?"

She felt it, then, the opening of a slip of emotion. He was amused, purely entertained by the fact that this foreigner girl was having a silent duel with him. One that involved throwing pointless jokes back and forth, and her trying to get back to her room. How long was he going to keep this up?

"Oh? I see now," she said glibly. "As a fellow ghost, you see through my mask, don't you?"

"Ghost?" He laughed. "Shorty, anyone can see your eyes."

The new nickname was not taken to well, for the burning in her eyes and the hunch in her crossed arms were lit fiercely with fire. His eyebrows arched higher at this, entertained by "Shorty" and her irritation. Mariko cursed her inability to come up with quick, sharp witticisms. Or nicknames.

"Well then, Sir Nugget Head, if you'd like, we can do this all day. But I'd like to go to my room," she said flatly. To her immense surprise, he unexpectedly stepped aside and opened an arm in the direction of her room, as if showing her the way. At a loss, her confusion obviously showed, because he shook his head and made a slight roll of his eyes. Besides that, he actually escorted her to her room, silently.

"No more chasing?" she inquired.

"How do I know if you're serious or not? I can't see your face, after all." A smirk. Mariko couldn't read his face again, even though he obviously showed a smug, lopsided little grin for her to see. It didn't match his eyes, not quite. What was his real goal? Her eyes narrowed and her wariness was noticed, and he dropped the smile.

"What?" Mariko folded her arms, mimicking Katsurou. It almost seemed as if she was mimicking Tobirama, which she didn't really like. He sourly reciprocated the action, mirroring her.

"Take the makeup off. Then come to lunch."

"It's eight in the morning, and for the last time, it isn't—"

The door closed in her face. She gaped at it in disbelief, unable to comprehend that Tobirama of the Senju had just slammed the door in her face.

_Did that just happen?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ I'm going to stop writing letters. It seems pointless, when all I do is ask questions to Momma, when in reality, I'm asking myself questions. I'm sure she's watching, my mother, but for now, I'm on my own. At least I've got this hair clip Ryo sent me. That counts, right? I'm wearing it now, though do you know how naked this feels without all the paint on? In the end, I went to lunch without the paint, and he wasn't even there. It's after dinner now, and I haven't seen him. Oh well._

_ I still can't believe he just slammed the door in my face. Unbelievable. If I told Katsurou, he would've flipped a house. I'm not sure what Ryo would do — he's more mild, you know — but Sumiko would march an army over from Hot Springs and…well, no man has ever left one of her tantrums standing._

_ I really wonder what it would be like if they met this man. Actually, I'm not quite sure what I think of him myself. He almost seems bipolar, or he's picking the petals off a daisy day by day. To speak to her, to not speak to her, to speak to her, to not. He should just throw the flower in the river and figure out what he wants to say._

_ No doubt another ghost comment._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

A few more days passed, and the end of June reached them. Along with the end of June, a wandering group of mischievous little boys somehow meandered their way into the Senju complex, one fine Tuesday afternoon.

"Man, I'm surprised there was no seal keeping me out," said a dark-haired boy with particularly sharp eyes. It wasn't his eye shape, really, for they were round and large, but the way his focus darted here and there acutely. Mariko recognized him from Toka's team. She also recognized the chubby one that tagged along, as well as Hiruzen, who was laughing loudly at the first boy.

"What do you mean by that?" asked a fourth one, who held a puppy to his chest. The puppy was plain adorable, a black thing with floppy ears and a big wet nose, a white splotch on his forehead. The boy himself had crisply cut light brown hair and two tattoos, downward triangles, lining his cheeks.

"This is the _Senju_ complex, Shiro, get with the program," said the sharp-eyed boy. "I wouldn't be surprised if they had Uchiha flytraps around here…" He feigned horror, looking behind a fence for a trap that would suck his face in.

The dog barked, and its owner giggled.

"Kuro says you reek, that's why the flies come for you guys."

"Not funny, dog," replied the dark-haired boy. The chubby one with the funny cat-ear hat offered them all potato chips, which they kindly declined. Happily enough, the larger child devoured them all contentedly.

"Boys," called a stern voice. Mito, hands on hips, coming out from the garden. "How many times do we need to tell you that you can't just wander around the Senju's place?"

"Lots of times, Lady Mito, we just never listen," Hiruzen piped enthusiastically. Everyone shot him exasperated glances, while he sniggered confidently.

"Obviously," replied Mito, rolling her eyes. "Now shoo, before you trample my gardens."

Laughing, the group of boys galumphed back the way they came, and bumped into Mariko, who had turned to corner on her way to the stables. Actually, she literally ran straight into the dark-haired boy with the piercing gaze, who had a good height on her.

"Oh," he said, rather surprised. He offered a polite hand. "Sorry, lady, I didn't see you around the corner."

Before she could take his offered hand, a larger one slapped it away. Incredulously, Mariko looked up and behind her to see Tobirama, face stoic and unreadable as ever. Her hand was still awkwardly outstretched, so he grasped it and pulled her to her feet effortlessly.

"Don't go touching any Uchiha hands, now," he said darkly. Then, he smirked and ruffled the boy's hair. The boy returned with a wide grin. Mariko shook her head. First off, she would never understand this male exchange, and secondly, Tobirama was quick to change as Frost Country weather. And according to Katsurou, it could be chilly in the morning, warm and beautiful at noon, and storming hail by dinner.

Tobirama was exactly that.

"Lady Princess, you're not wearing your white mask!" exclaimed Hiruzen, rather frankly. He was an overly obvious person, and Mariko wondered if his exotic father ever tired of it. Certainly a unique child.

And indeed, she was not wearing her pastels. She hadn't been wearing them for a day or two — after the door-in-face situation, she'd taken them off for the day, then reverted the next. Upon prompting by Mito, who was immensely glad that she'd melded into life comfortably enough to go without them, Mariko stopped using the paints again. Face bare, hair down, with only Ryouichi's pretty hair clip adorning her, Mariko felt lighter. Not more comfortable, but a little lighter.

"Thank you, Saru, for stating the obvious," deadpanned Tobirama.

"Sensei, you're mean," complained the child.

"Toka's mean too," Tobirama reasoned.

"That's true," said the chubby one, almost guiltily.

"Torifu, you and Kagami are the troublemakers, that's why," snickered Shiro, the boy with the dog. "Besides that, how do you know her? And lady, you've got the craziest blue hair I've ever seen."

Again, Mariko's perception of these young shinobi was perplexing. Was she supposed to take that as a compliment? At least his facial expressions were clearer than that girl from before, with the clean buns wrapped up on her head and scrutinizing eyes.

"She's a princess," blurted the chubby one, supposedly Torifu.

"From where?" The dog boy grinned curiously, and his dog barked cheerily.

"Her name is Princess Bunny, and she hails from the Rabbit Country," Tobirama said flatly. At this, Mariko turned and shot him an annoyed look. Then, unexpectedly, a hand on the nape of her neck. His fingers were cold, and she shivered.

"Seriously, Tobirama-sensei, you expect us to believe that?" Hiruzen took on a skeptical look, appearing, for once, serious.

"My name is _not_ Princess Bunny," Mariko said, brushing his hand away, partially because it was cold, and more because the gesture made her uncomfortable, and he knew it. "I am Second Princess Mariko of Hurricane."

"Whoa, does that mean you have a sister named Mariko, too?" Hiruzen and the group grinned eagerly. Tobirama snorted with laughter.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ I didn't expect it to get so hot in Konoha. Not as hot as Hurricane, though._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Fuuton jutsu, fuuton jutsu," chanted Hashirama, staring at the window.

"Shut up, shut up," responded Tobirama, fanning himself with a newspaper.

"Idiots disappear no jutsu," moaned Mito, dropping an ice cube down the back of Tobirama's shirt. Her brother-in-law jumped, leaping out of his seat, hissing a few nasty oaths that he immediately tried to recall. Meanwhile, Hashirama was sulking, but slightly amused by his brother and wife.

"Aren't you melting?" Hashirama suddenly asked Mariko, who was sitting at the table like nothing was wrong.

"Not really."

"That's my island girl," said Mito, patting her shoulder. "We feel nothing."

"Lies," Tobirama claimed. "Mito, you're too used to Konoha, you told me it was _sweltering_ last year, and it wasn't nearly as hot as this."

Mito held up another ice cube threateningly, and Tobirama went silent. Hashirama snatched the paper from his brother's hand and fanned them all, though it was nowhere near sufficient.

Suddenly, shouts from outside brought their attention to the courtyard, and by the looks of it, it was an unwelcome visitor. Mariko just didn't know how unwelcome this visitor was until he literally dropped in through the window, yanking the screen off rather unnecessarily and poking his head in.

The strangest part was, Mito had a frying pan in her hand, Tobirama wielded his newspaper once more, and Hashirama looked like someone had asked him to grow a beard made of miniature trees.

And it was in this order of events that Mariko met the Uchiha clan:

First, a mane so wild, Mariko thought a black lion had popped through the window.

Second, a blindfolded man tugging at the mane.

Third, Kagami somewhat in the distance, sniggering.

"What brings you, er…here?" Hashirama asked, a funny smile on his face. It was as if he was terribly amused, confused, bewildered, and more amused, all at once. Mito stared lividly at the broken window, which had been shoved upward so hard, the frame had cracked. Her face was murder, and the frying pan in her grasp screamed.

"Your—"

"Touch another thing in this house, and your face will look like this frying pan," Mito growled, taking a step forward. The face beneath the wild black hair looked rather surprised, as if he had just taken in the fact that Tobirama was brandishing a leaflet of newspaper at him like a sword, and the Hokage's wife was threatening him with kitchen ware.

"My dear, you will never hit me with that," he chuckled nonchalantly. Behind him, Kagami went pale, and the blindfolded man drew a single finger across his neck — Mariko knew exactly what he meant: Dead meat.

The frying pan flew at the window, and the man ducked. It clattered outside, and he glanced back at it, raising his brows.

"Madara, I'd suggest getting out," Hashirama said warily. "If you have any issues, tell me at the office later."

"Property issues and Hyuugas, Hashirama," Madara said. He avoided a spatula. "Someone's mooching off my forest."

"It's not yours."

"They don't know that."

The blindfolded man tugged Madara's sleeve insistently.

"You're blind, not mute, Izuna," deadpanned Tobirama, roll of news laid on the kitchen table and arms folded now. The one named Izuna sighed dramatically; a gesture that was equivalent to an exasperated roll of the eyes. Mariko would learn later that he didn't have eyes at all. Instead, they'd been transplanted to Madara's body, which was a rather horrifying idea.

"Nii-san, I believe that you will lose your face, someday," Izuna mused, gesturing towards Mito, who harrumphed huffily. "Or if you don't, maybe you'll have a son whose face is in danger of being smashed."

"You're ridiculous." Madara waved his little brother off, but anyone could see that he was still fond of the younger sibling's teasing. "Hashirama. What time?"

"For heaven's sake, Madara, it's _eight in the morning_. And it's _boiling_ today. Give me till around noon, I'll be there any time after." Hashirama shooed them, and the Uchiha marched out the complex, earning a few interested gazes as they did so. Including one horseman and one illusionist extraordinaire, Arata and Toka, respectively.

"I'm going to assume this cracked window was Madara," Toka commented dismissively. "And I'm going to assume that we are trying to play the ice cube game with Nugget Head over here," she added. Mito made a face, snickered, and childishly attempted to dump ice water on Tobirama's head. To Mariko's amazement, the water flowed in a beautiful arc away from Tobirama's head and onto the table.

"Very funny," Mito said, though she smiled.

"Suiton is magical," is all Tobirama offered. He turned to Arata and Toka, who were waiting patiently beside the table, on either side of the Hokage. Hashirama offered each of them a seat, a declined offer, and then also tried convincing them to have fresh fruit. When he failed, he went back to picking at his apple, because if he didn't, it was bound to get mushy soon.

"I was just wondering of Lady Princess would like to go for a ride?" A hopeful glance in Mariko's direction sent excited shivers down her spine. She hadn't been riding recently, so it would be a nice change. She stood, taking her dish to the sink, and then bounding gleefully out the door after the dark-haired Senju. His face crinkled into a familiar smile, the scars on his face melding to the shape of his grin and dimples. It wasn't a particularly handsome face, but it was nice to look at, and kind.

Mariko failed to see the glower that Tobirama sent after him, tinged with the slightest bit of resentment that both the Hokage and his redheaded wife picked up on subtly. Mito passed Hashirama a smile. He hid his own behind his apple.

* * *

Noon came with a sweltering heat blast, dwarfing the morning's temperatures with the increase in humidity and direct sunlight. The moment her round gelding slowed from a canter to a trot to a walk, the breeze that came with speed died down, and all at once, the heat poured into her skin and she started to sweat.

"It's terribly hot," commented Arata. He didn't quite complain about it, but he obviously looked uncomfortable. "Etsuko calls it 'icky like Izzy', though I see nothing repulsive about Uchiha Izuna whatsoever."

This evoked a small smile from Mariko, who wiped a few beads of sweat from her forehead. So far, it _was_ very hot, but nothing compared to Hurricane's summer peaks. She wondered how Ryouichi was faring. Recalling one particularly hot summer, when they'd been sweating like pigs and diving into a calm pool beside the falls, she tenderly touched on the memory of her oldest brother, floating on his back, free of worries for a moment.

"Then again, Etsuko says things like 'Maddy the batty' and 'Hashi the hash brown', so I don't think her sayings are the most accurate," considered Arata. Changing the topic briskly, as if a lively conversation would brush the heat away. "Well, Lady Mariko, are you up for a few jumps or shall we head back?"

"You have jumps?" Mariko asked immediately. She wasn't sure if her stout, dark gelding could carry over jumps. Katrina had been much taller, by about three hands to the withers, and had the build of an athletic horse. She cleared stone walls with ease and would hop out of her paddock if she so wished to. "Are you sure I can jump with him?" Mariko patted the horse. "And are you sure your colt is ready?"

Arata was aboard the reddish chestnut with a mane of fire, and the animal was raring to go.

"This one's a real jumper," Arata confirmed. "As for your gelding, he was a beautiful hunter in his prime. I think he can still hold his own. If it becomes too much, we can always head back via the flat fields."

And so, the two trotted away from the town center, where they'd been clopping quietly down a path parallel to one of the market streets, a pretty little trail between maple trees. Passing a dense copse of those same trees, they entered an open field adjacent to a training area. Lines of medium sized hedges and fallen logs made for exciting cross-country obstacles, and to Mariko's delight, her dark gelding leapt over them with practiced ease. His ears pricked, excited. A young heart within his old horse body beat strongly, and he carried the blunette princess over each obstacle with a steady pace and a surefooted lope.

Arata whooped as the colt overestimated a line of shrubbery, vaulting high into the air and coming back down with a jolt. His nostrils flared and his ears flickered every which way, hooves pounding into an almost delirious, hypnotic rhythm.

"This way, we'll jump the last wall," Arata called, swerving away to the left.

"Wall?" Mariko replied. He didn't hear her, so she just followed. Coming up next was a large stone wall, the equivalent of one of Katsurou's bigger hunting obstacles. It was something that his black stallion and Katrina would've soared over easily, but from the back of the short gelding, it looked enormous.

As expected, the gelding's ears flattened and he balked. This was too high for him, and he knew it well. Arata, however, became fearless in that one moment, pushing his horse forward, heels pressing to chestnut side and hands ushering the colt forward. The red colt had a heart that matched Arata's, for he took a last stride, collected himself beneath his haunches, and mightily sprang over the wall. His hinds legs nearly clipped the top, but he brushed over safely. The clatter of hooves on the other side let Mariko know that they'd landed safely.

"Lady Princess?" called Arata.

"It's too big, I'll go around," she said. "I know the way."

"I'll meet you at the end, then," he agreed, trotting parallel to the wall in the same direction that she headed in. The wall was long, and stretched over a mile that way. Eventually, the sound of accompanying hooves on the other side ceased, and Mariko reined in her mount to listen. Nothing.

"Arata?"

Silence. It was just her, the horse, and the distant bustling of the village. She couldn't see a gate anywhere, so she decided to head towards the village. From there, she could easily find a main road and trot her way back to the Senju complex.

Mariko slowed her gelding to a walk, and he plodded along, slightly tired and puffing deep breaths. She patted his neck appreciatively, and let him pick his way through the field.

Unexpectedly, she ran into a somewhat familiar man, one she identified by his evident lack of eyes. The blindfolded man, Izuna. Alone in the field, he was gathering a few natural herbs that grew there. She wondered why he was alone, and how he was doing such a task without his sight.

"Lady Princess of the islands," he greeted, without even turning.

"Izuna, was it? From the Uchiha clan."

"That's right." He stooped to pick up a strange, orange flower. "Did you know, that gelding used to be mine?"

Mariko glanced down, and saw that the gelding's ears had pricked and his pace had increased. He paused, however, as if asking permission. She loosened the reins, and he took the slack in his mouth, chomping on the bit and trotting up to the Uchiha merrily. Izuna petted the gelding's soft, velvety nose, before offering a handful of long grasses.

"Really?" inquired Mariko, surprised.

"That's right. I named him Yodel."

That was quite the bizarre name; she asked him about it.

"I'm not sure, it just came to me one day. Yodel the horse." A friendly smile, accompanied by a gentle gesture of rubbing Yodel's ears. "I'm not sure what the Senju have renamed him, though. Haven't seen you in a while, have I?" Izuna laughed dryly. "Couldn't see you if a tried, anyway."

"Why did you give him away?"

"My brother sold him because I can't ride anymore," Izuna explained, self-consciously touching the bandages wrapped around his eyes. Mariko now took in the slightly sunken area of where his eyes should've been, only empty sockets beneath the white wrap.

"That doesn't mean you can't keep him," Mariko reasoned.

"It's all right," Izuna returned, smiling. "At least I know the Senju take good care of their horses. That was enough for me to agree. This guy taught me how to ride, after all. He's an old bud."

Yodel whickered gently, pushing into Izuna's chest. A dark muzzle nibbled at the Uchiha's long, black hair, pulling a deep laugh.

"Careful on the way back, there's a few families of gophers that make holes a ways over there," Izuna said, gesturing to a less grassy area. "Try that path, and you'll make it back to the town center."

He pointed directly behind him, and Mariko offered a grateful thanks. He seemed pleasant, and happy enough to pet his old horse for a few more minutes. Then, returning to his medicine collecting, he sent Mariko off with a content wave.

Uchiha Izuna. Rather normal, not so much the exotic creature that his brother was, and quite kind. Mariko was finding the most interesting people in Konoha, and she mostly enjoyed anyone who liked the company of horses.

"Hey Shorty, that's not a horse trail."

If she hadn't been on horseback, she would've whipped around and struck a defiant pose, one that channeled Sumiko perfectly. But she was astride Yodel, whose head bobbed pleasantly, and she could only rein him in a circle to face the owner of the sardonic comment.

"So what if it isn't?" she asked in a low voice.

"Maybe I'll let someone heckle you about it, then. Come here."

She was sorely tempted to turn tail and spur the gelding down the street in defiance. Her brain thought too slowly, however, because her mount nickered at Tobirama, and the albino Senju strode up to pat his shoulder.

Out of the blue, so quickly that Mariko hardly had time to process what occurred, Tobirama had grabbed the back of the saddle and all at once, his leg was thrown over the gelding's rump and he was seated behind her. His chest to her back, he leaned forward and grasped the reins over Mariko's hands and spurred Yodel into a brisk gallop. When it finally hit Mariko, she yelped and yelled at him.

"What the rocks are you doing?!" she exclaimed.

"Riding," he said, so close to her ear that she could feel his breath tingle the nape of her neck. It was unnerving, his proximity, the warmth of his skin on hers where his arms touched hers, hands gripping the reins. It wasn't the heat of the weather, but the electricity on her skin, so powerful she almost wanted to recoil, because it was confusing her senses.

They pounded down the street, startling street vendors and causing a ruckus among the people. When they came upon an obstruction, a flat vendor's cart that nearly spanned half the avenue, Tobirama clicked his tongue and urged the gelding on.

"Don't!" yelled Mariko, but she felt a reassuring hum emanating from Tobirama's hands, and a surge of energy from the horse, who soared over the cart easily. She realized, then, that it was the flow of chakra, and she stared at his hands in wonderment. The energy, glowing slightly a hazy blue, was vibrating into her hands, where his palms overlapped her knuckles.

The horse slowed, and they pulled up a few blocks from the Senju complex, all three breathless. She could feel the grin on Tobirama's face without turning.

"How was that for a ride?"

"Insane." She was a shell, a thin sheet of girl, pressed into the curve of his chest, her hands firmly enveloped in his. They both dismounted, and when her knees threatened to give way, the Senju caught her elbow as naturally as if it was his duty to catch her from her horse every day. "Why did you do that?" she demanded, bewildered. "I—"

His hand came up to touch her cheek, almost tenderly, an unreadable expression on his face.

"You never told us it was your birthday, today."

* * *

OOCness, everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

Please tell me how it went...I feel like I just killed everyone's character. Except Madara, because I have fun making up his. He's just wacky, lol.


	5. Incredulous

The amount of cuteness (moe) I tried putting in here... I might have failed. Please tell me. ._.

Also, tell me if it moves too fast, or if anything happens to suddenly.

I've been requested to up sexiness.

To which I reply: OHOHOHOHOHOHO.

**Note: **Naruto chapter 620 - someone stick Mariko into that chapter, please, so she can hug Tobirama and make him more stuck to that spot than Orochima-creeper-chan's Edo Tensei ever could.

**Disclaimer:** Leading to the fact that I don't own Naruto, because WHERE IS MARIKO IN THIS EDO TENSEI MESS. Lol, just kidding. Hashirama's a boss; he and Maddy = showdown.

Also, Mito is screaming her head off for her revived husband to go save Tsu-chan. NOW.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Incredulous**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday Second Princess, happy birthday to me._

_ I got a headband from Ryo, a dress from Sumi – I think I like mainland fashion quite a bit – and a stone horse figurine from Katsurou. Ryo wrote a note saying that he couldn't wait to see the mainland, Sumi wrote about the silk crisis in Hot Springs, and Katsurou, for some reason, went off on a tangent involving dolphins and ninjutsu. Something about Suiton style, and his new Ice Dolphin technique, or something bizarre like that._

_ I have something lovely to bring back to Katrina, though._

_ That is, _if _I see her._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Birthdays do _not_ go unannounced," Mito declared, slapping a cake in front of her. How she made it so perfectly in one afternoon was beyond Mariko.

"To think Arata almost lost you on your birthday," clucked Toka, clicking her tongue at her cousin. Arata rubbed the back of his neck, apologizing for the thirtieth time, with Mariko reassuring him that it was fine. She didn't mention her random encounter with Izuna, but she supposed that was all right.

"My dear, tonight, we celebrate. You're nineteen now, right?" Hashirama smiled warmly at her.

"Every time a birthday comes around, I make up a slang expression," Etsuko was busy telling her fiancé. "Last year, I made 'Mito's pan', which means you're about to get your ass whooped."

"Language," cautioned Toka, and Etsuko blushed.

"I also made 'Ghost nugget has appeared', which is code for Tobirama has arrived. That one isn't as interesting, though," mused the dark-haired girl, with a furtive glance at the albino. To her astonishment, the white-haired man promptly ignored her, but instead, was rather preoccupied with the birthday subject.

"I'm sure he loves that one," Kell told her sardonically, a small grin surfacing on his face. She smiled widely back at him, overly fond of his new, round glasses that took up half his face.

"Look at _this_," Mito said, shoving a package in Mariko's face. The princess accepted, curiously picking the wrapping open.

"You don't need to be ladylike when you open presents," deadpanned Tobirama. He earned a quick glare as the blunette ripped one entire side open just to prove a point. What point, she wasn't quite sure, but the present was open.

A horse's bridle, with a shining bit, smooth, supple leather, and a shining engraving on the headpiece. It was beautiful. From the looks of the Hokage, his wife, and his brother, this was a joint project, even though it was last minute. She tried hugging them all at once, thinking about thanking them all rather then the warm hand that rested on her shoulder.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ The wedding's in the middle of August, when it cools down. For now, I'm a week into my 19th year, and I think I'm further into solving this puzzle of a man. Men are strange, aren't they?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Silently, so that no one would hear her this time, Mariko crept up at the first sliver of sunrise and padded back to the piano room. She didn't play this time, only put the tip of one finger along the ivory keys. She took it upon herself to grab a cloth from the kitchen and wipe down the instrument, for it was old and dusty. Besides that, it shone with the grace and elegance of an antique instrument, lasting through the ages.

The clock on the wall struck four-thirty, and a rustling was heard. Mariko paused in the middle of lifting the lid of the grand piano – it was quite heavy, and she didn't want to have it suddenly drop on her fingers – and glanced at the door. Whoever was out there walked at a leisurely pace, as if it was still too early and there was some time left.

Deciding to investigate, Mariko left the piano and slid the door open. She ran straight into the culprit as soon as she took a step out into the hall.

Blue armor clanged, and he hissed, straightening his fur collar; a collar that, Mariko thought mildly, made him look like an arctic fox. Katsurou had shown her an old, black-and-white photograph of the mysterious creature, eyes glinting in the snowy areas of the Frost Country.

"Preparing for a concert?" he deadpanned, though it was clear he was impatient and in no mood to stop and throw witty remarks back and forth.

"Perhaps. Where are _you_ going?" she returned, this time blocking his path rather than the other way around. However, she was teeny compared to him, and with his armor and full suit of shinobi attire on, he loomed tall over her. The blue armor glinted, newly cleaned, and the portions that extended off his shoulders made him seem broad and rock-solid. He folded his arms.

"Mission," he replied curtly.

"Where?"

"Somewhere." Elusively, the glint of amusement in his eyes. Then, the hardening of his gaze and leveling of his brow. "I'm in a hurry, if you can't tell."

"With who?"

He gave her a perplexed look.

"You're on a mission with _who_?" she clarified, rolling her eyes. Why was he so dull sometimes? He was impatient, too.

"I'm leaving," he declared, clamping a hand on her shoulder to push her out of the way. Vexed, Mariko stared at his arm, which was maneuvering her out of the way. In a fit of temper, she grasped his wrist, hard, and refused to let go. If she wanted to, she would stick to him like a burr.

"Who?" she repeated.

"Let go," he said flatly, eyes sharp now. The pack on his back rolled over to one of his shoulders, freeing up the arm that she held so he could pull away. She clung, however, tightly to his wrist, so tightly that when he tried jerking away, he ended up launching her forward.

"No." Rattled but determined, the blunette glared up at him. There was no need to be in a rush, if only moments before, he had been going at an unhurried pace. He was trying to escape, obviously.

His hand was cold, which she wondered about. Why were his hands always so cold? Sure enough, mornings were cooler than the daytime, especially before the sun was fully up, but it wasn't cold enough for his hands to be so icy. The one she grasped hardly warmed beneath her fingers. An odd sensation crept through her; she should warm his hands for him.

Immediately, she battered this idea away, because it was completely absurd. Last time she'd been up this early, her mind had been scrambled and the time afterward had been a frenzy of confusion. Everywhere, befuddling things happened, from trying to kick a certain white-haired Senju to him slamming the door in her face.

"Look, Shorty," Tobirama snapped, "I've got a mission with my team, and we need to set out early."

"How early?" Her grip tightened, and he looked exasperated. Mariko could almost see the wheels turning in his head – how to escape her. Patience was not one of his fortes, because he was increasing growing roiled and fidgety. If he could punch through the wall, he would, and if he wanted to, he could easily toss her aside with the flick of his muscular arm. But he didn't. Her small hands, princess hands, against his shinobi finesse. She was light and small, he was built and tall. Yet she grounded him, and he was unwilling to throw her off. In any other case (for example, if a woman had been clinging to him unnecessarily), he would've thrown the annoyance off harshly, giving a cold shoulder.

Mariko waited.

"Early."

"Time," she demanded. She squeezed his wrist, hard, and though it didn't hurt him, he was obviously uncomfortable now. "It's probably around eight, isn't it? What are you _really_ doing up so early?" Her eyes narrowed, and she scrutinized him just as he had done to her. "Do tell, Mr. Morning Ghost."

"Let go," he repeated, this time coldly. The glint of hardness in his eyes would have startled her, but she braced herself for in oncoming temper. She was angering him, and she knew it.

Then, unexpectedly, a sudden release of tension in his arm. Without time to react or push him away, her hands locked around his wrist, his other arm slipped to the nape of her neck and pulled her in. At first, she could only process the frigid quiver that his hand sent down her spine; his skin was freezing. Then, she realized how close he had gotten, and began to struggle.

A cold smile.

And then his lips were on hers, and she froze in shock. She hardly responded, but the fingers of his right hand brushed the hairs at the base of her head, keeping her in place. In a split second, he was gone, and she realized that she had let go of his wrist.

The clink of armor and the click of a door signaled his exit.

"Idiot!" she hissed angrily. She wasn't sure if she was calling herself a dimwit for being unable to deduce his plan quickly enough, or even comprehend anything as her mind turned to mush, or if she was calling Tobirama the idiot for doing such a confusing thing. A string of Hurricane oaths were slung from her lips, which she kept touching in a bewildered, awkward manner. If Katsurou had heard her, he would've laughed. Sumiko would've chuckled and winked. Ryouichi, calmly and coolly, would have shook his head. Meanwhile, at least half the maids and all the nurses would have fainted from her foul-mouthed swears.

She debated returning to piano, peering out the door, or going back to the room. Deciding the piano would calm her, she returned to the sitting room and touched a few keys. They rang softly, so she began a light-fingered scale that ran as far left and right as she could. Then, a soft waltz, its three beat bass a solidifying comfort to her. Her right hand danced with the melody, her toe pressing the pedal periodically, and her left hand consistently flowing along its three waltz beats.

At the end of the song, a visitor had appeared, and he was quietly and politely peering into the room.

Arata.

"Hello, Lady Princess," he greeted. "Early morning for the two of us, isn't it?"

"I couldn't sleep," Mariko admitted. And to be truthful, after that incident, she would not have been able to return to her pillows and dreams anyway.

"How about an early morning ride to loosen up the muscles?" he suggested. Mariko took note of the dark circles accompanying his eyes, and the irritated pink of his usually whitish scars. His hair was rumpled, and it was clear he had gotten out of bed upon hearing the piano.

"If you're up to it, then I'd love to," Mariko replied softly.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Sumiko,_

_ When did you have your first kiss? You know, I'm going to scrap this, because if I actually send it to you, Mito might read it first, and then she'll fuss all over me and probably give Tobirama a lecture. And if _you _receive it, you'll literally fly over from Hot Springs and smack him, and then you'll tell Katsurou and Ryo, and when you tell them, they'll take it upon their older brother's honor to defend my purity. Or something of the like._

_ I'm not even sure if that counted as a kiss._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Tobirama was gone for all of two days, during which Mariko spent most her time at the piano or in the stables, helping Arata brush one of the younger horses.

The tall, white-haired Senju's return was signified by the excited clamor of his team, which often came to the Senju house for dinner if they came back around the right time. Mariko was in the midst of brushing Yodel, who munched on hay quite contentedly – along with a few apples that Izuna had left her with the day before in the market – and now the Hurricane girl was discussing her options with herself. Should she go out and greet them, or stay here? Still muddled by her frustration and mix of feelings, she decided to stay in the barn and work out her stress through a thorough brushing and currying of Yodel's dark bay coat.

"Hashirama-sama, it was _huge_, this ninja was!" Hiruzen shouted. Mariko assumed that the Hokage had come out to greet them; she could also feel his warmth opened to them. Was it just her, or was it him? After all, she mostly only felt his intentions when he allowed them to slip through.

"Oh really?" asked Hashirama. Mariko could picture him laughing and placing his hands on his hips. If he ever had a child, she supposed he would be hoisting it around on his shoulders all day, playing with those little baby hands.

"Really! Right, Tobirama-sensei?"

From the lack of an answer, Mariko also assumed that Tobirama easily grew tired of his team. He was proud of them – he called them "his kids", after all – but there was a limit to his patience. He muttered something, and then left his group with Hashirama. Mariko knew this because footsteps were approaching the barn, and she knew exactly why.

She threw her brushes to the ground and crouched in the corner of Yodel's stall, pressed against the door so that no one could see her.

"You're not skilled enough to hide from he," he stated bluntly upon entry. "I could sense you from a mile away."

Sensory skills. She recalled Ryouichi describing Tobirama that day in the office.

"He's a skilled Suiton user, supposedly the best in the shinobi world," the First Prince said, sliding a paper from his folder to read off her fiancé's profile. Mariko didn't care much for that (though Katsurou would have found it interesting). "He's also a highly skilled sensory ninja and one of the strongest ninja out there."

"Ryo, you know I could care less about ninja stuff," Mariko huffed, shifting her weight nervously before his desk. The bespectacled prince pushed his glasses up his nose, shaking his head.

"What do you want to know, then?" he asked, at a loss.

"I want to know _why_ I'm married to him," Mariko told him. "_Why_ a Senju? There are plenty of other clans out there, and I don't have to be married to such a big one. What was the name of the dog clan? Inuzuka? That would be a nice relation, I love animals."

"Mari, you have to understand that the Senju are basically Konoha's royal elite," Ryouichi had tried to reason with her. "You—"

"There's plenty of other people dying for that hand in marriage. Marry me off to the daimyo's son or something, just—"

"What do you have against shinobi?" Ryouichi was frank now, for it had bothered him for quite some time. She was fine with a random son of a governor, but vehemently against shinobi?

"I don't have anything against them," she replied. To be truthfully, her conflicting emotions weren't telling her much of why she was so frantic. "I just…don't want to be a big deal. This is _Konoha_ we're talking about, Ryo."

Ryouichi understood at least this much. By far, an alliance with possibly the greatest shinobi nation was big, it was huge, it was beyond him, almost. This was vital for Hurricane, and fragile as a spider's web. Should something go wrong, something come crashing down on that web, disasters could break out. War, even. Ryouichi knew all this, for this was the point of his being Crown Prince of Hurricane, but he felt the greatest duty to help his baby sister. He couldn't just throw her out there, for the venomous arachnid to wrap her up.

"I know, Mari."

Sumiko and Katsurou to the Hot Springs and Frost, respectively, were hardly comparable to Konoha and the Fire Country. It was, so far, their only alliance with a great shinobi nation. They were on good terms with the Cloud to the north, and on a debatable peace with Kirigakure — one of their more worrisome connections, really — but nothing solid was ever established besides consistent trade.

"Why isn't Sumi married to Konoha?"

"She doesn't go down easily," said Ryouichi, shrugging.

"No, Ryo, that's not what I meant, and you know it." Mariko shot her older brother an almost helpless look. "Why wasn't her original marriage with Konoha?"

"First of all, Mito of the Whirlpool nation had priority in the marriage department," Ryouichi told her, going off on a limb here. "I'd assume that most negotiations were busy with her betrothal to the Hokage."

"That was _not_ around the same time, and you know it." Mariko folded her arms, as always an attempt to mimic Katsurou's firm stance, hoping to draw strength from the memory of his tall figure and broad shoulders.

"Okay, that's true," sighed Ryouichi, "but also, _this_ opening came now. We were just looking for a way into the Senju, and the Hokage suddenly put out his brother on the market."

"Doesn't that seem a little cruel, to put one's sibling out for marriage? Like a horse for sale?" Mariko narrowed her eyes. She didn't quite mean it to reference herself, but it was similar nonetheless.

"You, of all people, should know," Ryouichi said softly, glancing warily down at his paper. He looked tired; his shoulders sagged.

"I'm sorry, Ryo. I didn't mean it that way." Mariko put a hand on the corner of his desk, and he shook his head.

"I'm worried for you," he admitted. "He's seven years older than you."

Seven. Why was a man so much older than her being offered as a marriage tool? Were the Senju as bizarre a people as they were? This last part, Mariko thought of herself, because while she loved her country, she hated her fate.

"I've still to come up with a plan," she mused aloud. "You'll carry it out for me, right?"

"Patch up the holes first," he said, a small chuckle sufficing her intentions. "Then we'll talk."

* * *

He leaned his arms on the stall door, peering down at her. His one eyebrow quirked upwards, amused. She must've looked a mess, covered in straw and hay and dust, probably with horse spit on her shirt. She wore Arata's old jacket, a pair of Konoha slacks that reached just before her ankles, strangely enough. Her shirt was one of her own, a simple tee that she wore while riding most occasions. Her hair was down, face smudged with dirt instead of pastels, and she was, all in all… a mess.

"I'm sorry for not being good enough, Mr. Shinobi," she told him flatly, bewildered by how strange she must look huddled in a corner like that. It was obvious she'd been hiding, too.

"Not a problem, Shorty," he drawled. "I'm sure we could teach you a thing or two."

"And I could teach you plenty more," she deadpanned, getting to her feet. Yodel whickered and nudged her side for a carrot, which she produced from Arata's jackets. His pockets seemed to always have treats in them, even when she was sure that she'd fed every single tidbit to all the horses.

"How are you wearing that?" He pointed to the jacket.

"I just am." She shrugged it off, and then grimaced at the dust and grime on her arms as she hung up the jacket on a bridle hook. A cautious glance at the white-haired Senju gave her the impression of boredom. "Not angry?" she asked curiously. "I didn't make you late, did I?"

Realization dawned on him when he figured out what she was referring to, and he took the slight smirk on her face as a cue to tease.

"Oh, I hardly made it on time. Saru gave me a good scolding," he quipped, enjoying their light persiflage.

"I'm sure," she said, with a roll of her eyes.

"Surely," Tobirama continued, "you won't make me late for dinner, then?"

He was waiting for her, and she was still in boots and mucky clothing. This somewhat comforted her; in the back of her head, she believed that the horse-and-dirt flavored mixture would deter him from pulling another move as he had a few days before. She stepped out.

"I'll go extra slow," she chirped, grinning. His eyebrows rose again.

"I'm sure you will," he answered. He lashed out and mysteriously poked her in the stomach, hard. Her eyes widened and she swatted at him, which made him laugh, just lightly. In an audacious attempt to coax a reaction, he grabbed her chin and made his move.

Mariko was ready this time — she shoved him away with unexpected strength. In a glorious dash for freedom — her entirety of blue hair, green eyes, and a disheveled barn appearance making a dash for it — Mariko ran for the stable door. Had she been a split second slower, his hand would have wrapped around her wrist, and after that, she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know.

In any case, she didn't keep anyone waiting, for a quick shower and a change of clothes put her at dinner with Hashirama, Mito, Tobirama's three students, and the perplexing man himself.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ I don't like being interrogated. Last night was interrogation, completely. The girl, whose name I keep forgetting, would only shoot strange glares at me. The one with glasses reminded me of Ryo, and Hiruzen was quite noisy, and asked me tons and tons of questions. I mean, I didn't mind that he liked asking me questions, but they become so complicated and some of them were nosy._

_ Besides that, _he_ kept looking at me. What's that supposed to mean? I didn't know he was the playful type, either._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Morning found Mariko tacking up Yodel for a brisk hack around the nearby fields. The gelding cantered down the path smoothly, carrying her around for one long trip before returning to the Senju complex. There, she rubbed the horse down and then gave him a nice buffet of some carrots. Finding herself mucky all over again, Mariko jogged back to her room.

Suddenly, a fanfare, and it was so familiar that she cried out loud.

Hurricane's royal entering bugel, played by five trumpets and a string quartet. Well, this one lacked the strings section, and had only one trumpet, but it rang loud and clear by the Hokage Tower. Solitary and dignified, it signaled the entrance of a royal court member.

_Someone, someone is here!_

She immediately ran for the Senju complex gates, hoping to dash down the street to the Hokage tower. Was it Sumiko? Or was it Katsurou? Maybe, just maybe…

She arrived, panting before the tower, before any of her guard or maids could realize that she'd gone. Her people had been given free rein, only to keep an eye on her during formal occasions, and check in on her from time to time. And now, standing before her, so full of Hurricane nostalgia that tears came to her eyes, was none other than her Aunt Tari. It was not the blue-haired sibling she'd expected, but she was reduced to pathetic sobs anyway, running into her aunt's open arms.

After a few minutes of incoherent babble and rocking back and forth, Tari held her niece out at length.

"My dear, what have they done to you?" she said through a smile. "Stuck you in a barn all day?"

"They tried to get me out," replied Mariko, wiping a joyful slip of tears away. "Auntie, how are you here? How are _you_? How is Ryo? How—"

"One question at a time, girl," laughed the older woman, brushing Mariko's blue hair from her eyes. "I'm only here to deliver a message before I travel to the Tea Country for some special herbs."

"Special herbs?" echoed the princess.

"Yes. You see, my nephew, your cousin, is horribly sick. Despite this, he took care of your late uncle until the very end. Now he's fallen even more ill, and the Uzumaki tell me to request a healer from the Tea Country, specifically."

"Why not from Konoha, here? Why not the Uzumaki themselves? Aren't they—"

"Hush, child. It's only because he is a specialist in this disease's area," explained her aunt calmly. "I must deliver your future brother-in-law a scroll, and then I'll be on my way."

Dismayed, for she had been reunited with a family member for all of five minutes, Mariko clutched her aunt's sleeve. She noticed, now, the stark contrast between her aunt and the citizens of the Leaf, despite the older woman's otherwise bland appearance. The pastels made her face like the moon, and the colors were those of mourning.

"Let me give you something, then."

"I'll be at the Hokage Tower for a good hour, my dear. I'll see you there."

With that, Mariko turned tail and ran for her bedroom to dig out a present she'd just recently received, but felt the need to give away. She'd received Katsurou's heart, and then it became her own. Now, it felt right to give a piece of their hearts to their lovely Aunt Tari.

She tucked the river horse figurine into Tari's calloused hands. The woman's eyes crinkled at the corners, smiling, but sadly.

"This is meant for you," she said softly, upon exit of her meeting with the Hokage. Hashirama had been the most respectful during that time, politely conversing with Mariko's aunt and analyzing the scroll just as calmly. When she left, she came upon Mariko in the hall. "I cannot take it," she told her niece. "It's yours."

"I can't go home," Mariko insisted. "This can."

"There's no need to leave me with a parting gift, my dear." Aunt Tari attempted to slide the horse figurine back into Mariko's fingers, but the girl adamantly refused.

"River horses never leave Hurricane," she reminded her aunt. "This one needs to go home."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Aunt Tari came today. I hadn't expected to see her again so soon. It made me so happy, but also sad. Why am I sad? Mito is happy here, isn't she? I sometimes wonder if she suffers from the same feelings that I do. It's not loneliness, because there's always people. It's not frustration, because there's nothing to do. It's the feeling of being lost, and sometimes, that's the worst feeling of all._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The white-haired Senju leaned against the doorframe casually, broad shoulders filling up the doorway. He folded his arms and listened to the girl play a devastatingly sad song, one with dark chords and the heaviness of a funeral march. It progressed into a slightly lighter tune, but all the more melancholy.

"This is a hunch," he said flatly, "but I'm going to say that what you play reflects your mood."

"Your hunch is off by miles," Mariko replied. "I'm happier than a duck."

He scoffed at this, muttering something about ducks and happiness having seemingly no relation whatsoever. She was bothered, and it was quite evident that she wanted him to go away, to leave her alone. As a result, Tobirama would do just the opposite.

He came behind the piano bench and leaned over the few scripts of music she'd pulled from her belongings. The blunette stared at him warily, wondering what he was doing, bent over so that his face was next to hers, intently staring at the paper.

"You find this interesting?" she asked. "Or is it just because you can't read it?"

He made a face and retreated, folding his arms again.

"I can read music fine," he claimed. "Besides, you smell not like horses, for once."

"I think that was a compliment," Mariko said suspiciously, "but I'm not quite sure. Care to elaborate?"

"Ah." He smirked. She was prompting him, daring him to tell her that he'd stooped down just to smell her. An odd idea, but amusing and unsettling all the same.

He wiped his hands on his shinobi trousers, dark and baggy things that she thought were ridiculously unprofessional. They were comfortable, was what he told her, and that was all he needed. She then pointed out how contradictory that sounded, because he wore that blue armor all the time. Plus more arm guards and leg wraps, and a bunch of things that looked the opposite of comfortable.

"Safety first," he supposed, narrowing his eyes at her. "You wouldn't have to worry about a dagger piercing your heart."

A bit hurt by this, Mariko trickled back to playing a few songs, cheerier ones now. She was pondering heavily over Tari's brief visit — it had been so short, it was as if she never came. Surely she could've stayed longer. It was true that many foreigners came through just to drop off a message for their leader, but this was far too quick, especially for Mariko. She had wanted to ask Tari how Hurricane was, if there was any chance of going back soon (a futile question), and if she could drop in on Katrina some time. No one could ride the feisty dappled mare, with the exception of Mariko and sometimes Sumiko. Mariko knew Ryouichi would check on the horse, unquestionably, but he would do little besides tell the horse master to let her run in the ring or release her to the paddocks.

"Hey."

Her fingers pressed a wrong key, and she winced, the sound jarring her. She had been going along well, so she picked it up again and ignored the insistent, deep voice beside her.

"Shorty."

She lifted her hands off the piano now, and stared at him flatly. _Leave me alone_, she sent mentally, as if he could hear her. Skillful as he was, he wasn't a mind reader. Despite this, her body language was crystal clear, and he leaned back, a sour scowl on his face.

_Pushy blockhead_, she muttered inwardly. _You can't always get what you want_.

Tobirama stared, arms crossed deliberately. If he wasn't going to leave, Mariko was terribly tempted to. When she finally broke under the pressure of her own nerves — more of a bad mood than nervousness — she stood and crossed the room briskly. The moment she reached the door, she had a disquieting thought: He was letting her go.

She denied herself a glance back at the tall man sitting quietly on the chair alongside the grand piano. Mariko pushed out into the hall.

If she thought that closing the door and walking a good distance down the hall meant she was free, then she was sorely incorrect. Like magic, he appeared in front of her, faster than a heartbeat. Mariko gaped at him in disbelief.

"Not bad," he murmured to himself, fingering a large paper seal plastered to the wall beside him. Mariko hadn't even seen the tag, and here it was, big and bright as day, a pale parchment hung up right in front of her. He studied the seal, then tucked it into his pocket.

"What was that?" she demanded, eyes still flying from the wall to his face to his pocket, then raking up quickly again.

"Time-space ninjutsu," he replied nonchalantly. "Though it doesn't always work like I want it to…"

Ignoring this baffling answer, for she knew little of time-space and its relation to shinobi, the blunette pushed past him. She actually would've made it past, this time, ducking around him, if he hadn't turned at the last minute to grab her.

"What do you want?" she asked, almost wearily, when she felt his cold fingers wrap around her small wrist. He obviously didn't know how to read the mood, and was especially pushy today.

"Tell me what's bothering you."

"Nothing is bothering me," she sighed, "except you."

She said this weakly, and wished she had been able to spit it out with more force. Maybe then, he would've let go. But of course, Tobirama, being the stubborn, thickheaded Senju he was, didn't let go. He was awfully dull for a smart man.

"Then I'll bother you some more," he replied easily.

She glared now, but it lacked energy. An arbitrary flicker of hesitation flashed across him; it didn't cross his eyes, but the thin line of his mouth wavered. The release of her wrist came as a pleasant surprise, and she rubbed it in wonder as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

"There's lunch in the kitchen, if you want it," he droned flatly. "None of us will be home around noon."

"Thanks," she said softly, though he'd turned away already. Perhaps there was a shred of understanding in that ghostly white heart of his — a something that held the semblance and form of guilt, though it hardly manifested itself in that way.

* * *

Hashirama, that evening, was oddly quiet. Usually, he was boisterous and full of stories to tell, but tonight, he was silent. Mito, who would have found this off behavior odd, did not question her husband about it. Tobirama simply took everything in stride, and did not ask. In fact, he preferred when his brother was not acting like an overly large child.

They did, however, have conversations at the dinner table. They weren't quite the fabulous stories that the Hokage recounted for them, but instead, friendly social communication, the typical kind.

"My dear, you know Mr. Hozuki?" Mito mentioned. "I heard he's in line to become the next Mizukage."

"That sounds horrendous," Mariko answered incredulously, stirring a breathy laugh from the red-haired woman across from her.

"Doesn't it?" agreed Mito. "Hashi, dear, there's some lemonade in the fridge, will you get it for me?"

Such a mundane thing to say, and yet the god of shinobi slid out of his chair and presented his lovely wife with a pitcher of it. He kindly poured everyone a glass, and upon tasting, it was quite the lemonade. Fresh and crisp and homemade.

"Tobirama made it," Hashirama blurted, evoking an exasperated glower in his direction. The brunet shrugged and pretended to study his chopsticks. "Stating the truth, simply."

"The truth is," Mito confirmed, patting Tobirama on the shoulder, "that this is a big white fluff-ball with a mushy heart in the middle."

All untrue descriptions, but amusing in the circumstances. Tobirama's face turned to a lasting scowl, which he held throughout most the rest of the meal. Outside, the wind began to pick up, and a tree's branches knocked against a window. A consistent pitter-patter came with the start of a summer storm, thunder rumbling menacingly in the distance.

"I'm going to go," Tobirama said abruptly, at the same time Mito stood up and declared that she needed to bring in the laundry she forgot earlier. Hashirama excused himself without explanation, and left Mariko to decide what to do on her own. Deciding to run back to her room — flopping down in a sea of pillows seemed like a good idea at the moment — she placed her plate in the sink and made for her room.

In the hallways, she came upon the man she always comes upon. From the looks of it, his bored stance, leaning against the wall, he was waiting for her. Perplexed, she hesitated.

"Hey Shorty, let me show you something." He gestured down the hall, and she followed. Mariko caught up to him, somewhat curious as to where he was headed. Tobirama changed his mind mid-step, and screeched to a halt. Mariko nearly ran into his back, nose brushing the fabric of his shirt as she muttered a quick apology.

He glanced over his shoulder.

She stared up at him, neck craned backwards just to see his entirety. He was far too close, all of a sudden, and she found herself staring into his garnet eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Mariko fought the urge to flee, to bolt with her tail tucked between her legs and her head down.

No, she wasn't fighting.

She was fighting the urge to stay. She told herself to run, but her body betrayed her and stayed routed to the spot, even when he leaned down so close she could feel his breath on her nose and lips. _Push him away, _she willed herself. Her body didn't budge. _Move_. Her shoulders were stiff, her spine straightened like a board, fists clenched at her side so hard, her nails were biting into her palms.

Had it been anyone else, she would've had a claustrophobic panic creep up on her. She wanted to run so badly, to shove him away vehemently and shamefully abandon all ladylike manners. Even so, the blunette stayed perfectly still, so that when he stopped just short of her lips, her throat made a tiny strangled noise that stabbed her mind. Her mind wanted her to run, but it seemed that every other fiber of her being was rooted.

Then, a proper kiss, with his fingers tilting her chin up and his other hand lightly touching her arm.

It was nothing like the whimsical, almost unreal drop of lips from that early morning. His lips were warm, his hands so cold they were hot on her skin, and she wasn't quite sure when, but she'd started kissing him back.

An inner Mariko shrieked, _You don't even _know_ how to kiss!_

Her body laughed at her foolish brain, all elements of nature and emotion and instinct bringing her hands up to rest on his shoulders. His hands had dropped to her waist, where the gripped her shirt lightly for leverage. He was leaning down a ways, and she found herself tip-toeing to meet him.

A slick tongue brushed against her lips, and she gasped in surprise, forming a little "o" with her mouth. Her brain must've screamed something, but she had thrown out her head a while ago, and was just following whatever it was he was trying to tell her with his lips. Granted entrance, he melded his mouth against hers. Her hands crawled up to grasp his collar, and she could feel him smile through the kiss, sliding rhythmically to taste her lower lip tantalizingly.

All too soon, he pulled back, and her eyes snapped open. His eyebrows were quirked, almost as if he was poking fun at her. As her senses returned and her mind snapped back into place, the bewilderment turned to incredulous, spluttering indignation. When she failed to lucidly piece together an comprehensible sentence, he quipped:

"Am I bothering you now?"

* * *

"Men are idiots. Women do all the work because men are idiots, and men are idiots because women do all the work." Such was one of Sumiko's philosophies, especially when she encountered an aggravating block in her love life. Mariko had wondered, vaguely, how in the world the First Princess, whose schedule was strictly regimented to princess activities, had a boyfriend at all.

"Why?" was the most common word out of Mariko's mouth at age eleven, listening to a fifteen-year-old gab about the latest fashions and boys and other nonsense.

"_Because_, I just told you, Mari," Sumiko said, rolling her eyes. "It's stressful."

"What is?"

"Boys!" Sumiko patted her little sister's shoulder and motioned her into the room. "Let me show you. Did you know, Ryo is a complete dunce when it comes to girls? He should have a girlfriend."

"Maybe he doesn't want one. He's busy."

Indeed he was. Heir to the throne and nearly twenty years of age, Ryouichi was almost always chasing some court case or another, because that was his current topic of work. Sometimes, at the high court, he stayed long after the trial was over, debating ponderously over why one man was convicted while the other was not, and whether or not the judges were fair to the people.

"He's the First Prince," Sumiko reasoned. "He should have a girlfriend."

This made little sense to Mariko, who had yet to see an interesting change in both heart and body. Flat as a board, pitifully, and with less curves than a piece of paper, Mariko's sole interests were music and horses. At the moment, since they were in the middle of a bout of spring storms, it was mostly music.

"Katsurou, on the other hand," Sumiko said, rather amused, "seems to have stolen Ryo's flirting skills. He knows every trick in the book, and with two sisters, he's pretty good at reading girls."

"He can't read you," Mariko deadpanned.

"Still, he's got more knowledge as to how they'll react."

"Like how the time he told you that you were flatter than a table, you hit him?"

Sumiko through her little sister an entertained grin: "Precisely."

When Mariko turned thirteen, then fourteen, and the changes she underwent frightened her especially now that her mother was absent from their lives, Sumiko was her saving grace. Sumiko taught her the ways of men and women in the world, of a woman's bleedings, and of all the things she thought were necessary to share. Boyfriends and their brothers' troubled love lives included. Sumiko helped her with her clothes, Sumiko helped her with anything that worried her.

Second to Sumiko, Aunt Tari.

After Aunt Tari, sometimes Lemma the elderly nurse.

"Listen, Mariko, men are voracious creatures," Sumiko had told her, approximately four months before her wedding with a different man than was originally proposed. Mariko listened carefully, for hardly enough time had passed since the queen's death, and Sumiko's voice was achingly similar to Manami's. Maybe not the pitch, but the lilts and the accents and the tendencies of speech. "Be careful," the older princess warned. "Especially when I'm gone, I won't be able to whoop any bad guys away for you."

Mariko smiled and embraced her sister.

"Promise me one thing," Sumiko added.

"Anything." Mariko could tell her sister anything, if her heart wished so.

"Tell me when you have your first kiss, and who it's with." Sumiko supplied a mischievous grin, to which Mariko flushed slightly. "Don't deny it, I know you see boys now."

It wasn't that she didn't _see_ them, it was just that she didn't quite care. She had her music and she had her riding. Sure enough, as she grew older, she noticed the male population a good amount, but her schedule was not unlike Ryouichi's: eternally secluded to history lessons, music, horses, and other precisely correct activities suitable for a princess.

"Don't forget this." A packet of circular herb capsules, a condensed medicine pill taken in twos with water. Its sole purpose was to prevent pregnancy.

Mariko stared dubiously at the supply that Sumiko had pressed into her thirteen-year-old hands. She was _thirteen_, she wasn't about to go anywhere or do anything. Even in the market, a maid and a guard followed her. She was watched all the time.

"I know, don't look at me funny!" Sumiko exclaimed. "You'll need it, some day. I don't mean now, of course, but when you're older. Just in case I'm not back when it happens. You can always tell Lemma, Aunt Tari, or ask a healer in the lower courtyard for them. Don't be embarrassed."

She'd never used them, and never planned to. Mariko had planned to run away, as she recalled. A failed plan, but still, she'd been thinking. She read lovely books of romance, where the ill-fated lovers were nearly torn apart, but then brought together in an impossibly dramatic plot. She had a warm fondness for these novels, a fuzzy feeling for them, one that relished the happiness of the couple. But for herself? It was never even a question in her mind.

That is, until now.

* * *

"You are bothering me so much, I want to slap you."

"Go ahead." A smirk, a twitch in his cheek that was so irritating, she wanted to shove him away. But his hands were still resting on her hips, hips that had rounded out into fine curves that she'd hardly ever considered, but was mildly grateful for, because now they provided a natural resting place for his cold-hot hands. That brought her to another subject: his hands. How were they so cold all the time? It was as if his blood ran out of heat and life-energy, and his hands turned to ice. But she knew this wasn't true — from the chakra poured through her hands, down the reins, and to the horse during that one exhilarating gallop, to the stunning electricity he shot through her nerves upon contact.

So she slapped him, hard, across the face. He clearly hadn't expected her retaliation, because his eyes went wide and he stared at her disbelievingly. Mariko stole his smirk and proudly planted it on her own face.

"Serves you right," she leered smugly.

"You," he stated plainly, shaking his head. Straightening to his full height so that she'd have to look up at him, he rubbed his cheek, which would be sore later on. And then he grabbed her wrists, palms cold despite the previous, fiery contact with her. He drew them up above her head and pinned her to the wall.

A surge of panic, because now she was trapped. The urge to flee returned, and this time, she was restrained physically, for real.

"That was gutsy," he told her dryly, eyes narrowing.

She turned her chin up at him defiantly. In a split second, she realized that this was the wrong thing to do, because all at once, there was a burning, excruciatingly pleasant sensation at her neck, and the feeling of his lips against her jaw branded her with an inexplicable rush of excitement. Whatever he was doing — she was frozen, stunned, melting — he was good at it.

It occurred to her that he had an entire bank of experience, whereas she had none. He was having far too much fun with her, and now she kicked herself mentally for not considering any of this. He was playing with her, and from the looks of it, she was falling for it.

Her savior turned out to be Toka, whose voice jarringly interrupted the white-haired Senju.

"Steal that girl's innocence before my eyes, and I cut off something you want to keep desperately," she growled. Tobirama immediately backed off, lowering Mariko's hands and returning them to her gently, as if dropping them was like letting go of fine china. "That's a good boy," said Toka, eyeing the tall Senju narrowly. She wrapped an arm around a still-bewildered blunette. "Let's go, my dear. I was going to find some dessert because Etsuko has the oddest cravings at the oddest hours. Also, Kell wants to talk to you."

Toka led Mariko away, and the blunette, giggling, noticed the sour look the dark-haired woman threw at her albino cousin, who was left looking awkward and lost.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Sumiko,_

_ I had my real kiss this time. This is sort of funny to write, but I suppose it's all right. I promised you, after all. Please don't pull a Toka and come chop him to pieces. I think I'll do that myself._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"I hear you're in search of medicinal pills," Kell said knowledgeably. At first, Mariko stared at in him in confusion, with a hint of horror. Was he implying that she needed to take the herb capsules for pregnancy? At least, that was her first thought. Then, slowly thinking back, she realized he meant Aunt Tari.

"My Aunt is searching for a certain medicine man," she informed him.

"It's probably Lord Gen, then. He and his wife are skilled medicine makers and healers. Trust them to aid whoever it is that is ill," Kell said. He pushed his glasses up his nose. At first, it reminded Mariko of one of Hiruzen's teammates, the brooding one who mostly kept silent, and then she thought of Ryouichi, who would've eagerly poured over the different types of medicine available.

"Are they willing to go to Hurricane?" inquired Mariko. She suddenly felt terrible that she knew little to nothing of this distant cousin, save that he looked like her mother's side of the family. The royal family kept to its blue-haired half, and kept to the queen's closest relatives, at most. Mariko had known that her late uncle, a friendly brown-haired fellow whose stubble prickled her baby cheeks, she remembered, and had started going bald early, was a friendly cobbler. She'd met him probably three times, but only when she was small. He'd been kind, but she never knew this cousin, her uncle's son, who had fallen ill.

"The lord and lady love travel," Kell reassured her. "Hurricane is one of the few places they've never been, among many other islands they wish to travel to. I'm sure they'll agree."

Mariko smiled kindly, to let him know she appreciated the knowledge.

Etsuko bounded into the room then, from her short trip to the ladies' room. She pulled out a tub of ice cream and asked if anyone would like any. Kell laughed and agreed to it. Mariko watched this bubbly exchange brightly; it seemed as if this relationship had developed faster than her own. Etsuko and Kell were on lovely terms with one another, and could be seen laughing so hard that tears came to their eyes in the courtyard.

A bold Senju girl, and a usually mild, studious Tea Country boy. They fit together quite well.

Suddenly, Mito stormed into the room. Her eyes were dark and she looked quite distressed. No, not distressed, it was more of an outraged expression that lined her beautiful features.

"What's the matter, Mito?" asked Toka, accepting a small portion of ice cream that Etsuko generously spooned out.

"Tell me where he's gone, and I'll hack him to pieces and feed them to the dogs," she hissed. Then, seeing Mariko, she softened. "Hello, my dear."

The stunning difference between the two sentences was so disconcerting, Mariko had to make sure they were still on the same subject.

"If you want Tobirama, he's probably in his room," Toka said. "If you want Madara, he's at the Hokage Tower."

"Thank you," Mito said simply. Then, she paused. "Wait, why would I want Tobirama?"

"Nothing, forget that."

Obviously, Mito wasn't falling for anything, and she shot the other woman a look that clearly meant she wanted a spymaster's meeting when she finished what she was doing.

"What's he done now?" called Etsuko across the table. She giggled at something Kell whispered in her ear, and slapped his thigh amicably.

"I have no idea, because Izuna told me that he didn't want to risk his own life telling it to me. It went along the lines of, 'My Lady, I already lack eyes, please don't take anything else away from my poor body', and then he fled." Mito put her hands on her hips. "If it's as bad as he says, please bring umbrellas, because there is a high likelihood of rain, and it'll rain Uchiha."

Perplexed by this fit of temper, Mariko watched the redhead storm away to the Hokage Tower. She slung an umbrella around her arm as she went, flapping it open as soon as she entered the rain. Mariko randomly recalled her wish to flop down on her bed — so much for that.

Tobirama peered into the room, a head of messy white hair in the dark doorway.

"Hey, Tobi, wanna explain why Toka is threatening to kill you?" Etsuko asked bluntly, spooning ice cream into her mouth. He didn't answer, and did his usual tactic: answering a question with an off-topic jibe at the person of interest.

"With all that ice cream you're eating, it's like you're pregnant. Are you?" Tobirama asked, pointedly glancing at Kell, who accomplished the incredible feat of perfectly regulating an expression of nonchalance and blankness onto his face.

"I'm not, thank you very much, Nugget Head," spat Etsuko, hardly wavering. She was probably one of the best at countering her pale-haired cousin; she merely batted her eyelashes and deliberately answered as bluntly as possible. "Now. Is that an allusion to something else that I'm sensing?"

Tobirama scowled, and Etsuko did a small dance in her seat. She'd hit a bingo, and now Tobirama was uncomfortable.

"Frown all you like, Tobi," Toka called. "And joke all you like, because nothing you do is going to save those male reproductive organs of yours. The Senju don't hold back, you know."

"In anything," he deadpanned, shooting a smirk at his cousins. Kell snorted at this, almost spitting his ice cream back out at the absurdly perverted side of that comment. The mousy-haired man turned and nodded approvingly at the Senju, something Mariko had not expected from him. Etsuko too, because she poked his leg insistently.

"Tobirama, I'll give you to the count of three before I come—"

The head of white hair vanished, and Toka pushed herself back from her seat.

"I'll be right back," she said, an ominously evil, terribly delighted grin slipping into place.

"Mariko, make babies _fast_, because Tobi might not last long," blurted Etsuko. This time, Kell burst out into a fit of laughter, and Mariko reddened.

She could only imagine what would happen when Mito returned.

* * *

Bang! Two kisses, one chapter.

Errrr...

Questions, comments, burning concerns?!

FERVENT DESIRES?

(Also, I was told that I accidentally made the status say "COMPLETE". That's totally not true, lol.)

Ahhh, Tobirama's so grumpy. I love it.

**Note: **So I'm at 80 Microsoft Word pages for this story (wowww). I looked it up, and it seems that if you double that number, it's the approximate number of pages it would be in a real book (average size). I have a 160 page book. Not bad XD.


	6. Beware - Powers and Women

Happy Valentine's Day!

Whew! Fast update this time.

Ohohoho. Yes, I'm purposely torturing both reader and this couple with endless cockblock. Tee hee.

(Also, why do I keep getting inspiration from other series? A lot of this reminds me of the Graceling series, while "Shorty" just reminds me of Fairy Tail's Gajeel and Levy...Levy is ironically also a blunette, and small, but looks nothing like Mariko.)

**Note: **I ate a lot of candy today, and I hate homework.

**Disclaimer:** Naruto doesn't belong to me, but instead, Kishi-sensei who needs to be able to use Kage Bunshin to draw faster.

* * *

**Chapter 6: ****Beware - Powers and Women**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ The rain has stopped today, and I encountered the very thing you seem to despise – Ninjutsu. There's three children I'd like to mention. One is Sarutobi Hiruzen, and he's quite the amusing boy. The second is his teammate, Mitokado Homura, a quiet, studious boy somewhat like Kell and a teeny bit like Ryo. He's the sensible one. Lastly, the girl – Utatane Koharu. I'm not sure what to think of her, because she has hardly talked to me. She talks, just…not to me. Maybe because I don't know her well?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

If Tobirama was alive in the morning, Mariko decided that she might go and see him. These reasons were solely guided by the strong tug in her gut, the tendency of her body to drift towards the kitchen and his quarters in search of him. Her mind, however, screamed profanities at her disobedient limbs. She was caught between her consciousness and the underlying emotions that were leading her in a direction she wasn't sure was the right one.

What _were_ her emotions telling her? She supposed that it was the thing she read in all those books of love stories, but she adamantly refused to acknowledge it. The one part of her brain sulked heavily, convinced that he was just toying with her. It was highly likely, for he was inconsistent; one moment playful with her, the next terse and snappish.

It turned out that Tobirama had survived the night, all body parts intact – something he was grateful for – and was up early, as per usual.

She paused that the doorway of his bedroom, wondering if she should knock. She heard him rummaging through a drawer, and was quite sure he knew she was currently standing outside his door. How it must've amused him, her standing motionless outside his room, frozen, maybe confused, maybe asking why she was here at all.

"Door's not locked," he called lightly.

Mariko wasn't sure how to respond. Obviously, she should open the door.

"Are you decent?" she said instead, a lame statement, to say the least. She heard him scoff, and could picture the slight quirk in his eyebrows and the shaking of his head.

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't have invited you in."

The blunette turned the doorknob and entered his room. It was a quiet one, rather bland, to her surprise. The walls were a soft burgundy-tinted cream, something that reminded her of mild red tea. His sheets were a similar shade, but with mahogany and deep red coverlets. It was not neat, but rather thrown together elegantly. Mariko had imagined a deep-sea sort of room for him, given his propensity for Suiton jutsu. On the other hand, she'd also pictured an cold room, not temperature-wise, but in colors. Brisk green or blue and white, with crisp sheets that were clean as snow. This was because of his albino characteristics and the light fur collar he wore on his armor – he belonged in the snowy habitat of an arctic fox.

"Is there an elephant in my room, or something?" he said flatly.

"Yes, there is," she mused, still glancing round, before her eyes settled on him. "I'm looking at him right now."

He shot her a sardonic look that wasn't warm or cold or anything, really. An expression that he put on his face simply because she was making early morning jokes.

"What brings you to the lair of the water king?" he asked boldly, feigning grandness. Though he sat on his bed and he slouched, he puffed himself up to look high and mighty.

"You look like a hunchbacked gargoyle," she informed him blandly.

"Thank you," he replied just as gracefully. "And you look like a blue walrus."

That made absolutely no sense, but her reaction was his goal. She warily glanced at herself quickly, almost alarmed, but then scowled at him.

"Now, now," he said, as if scolding a child. "Down frown so much, you'll get wrinkles."

"Coming from you, that's ironic," she replied tartly.

"Sit." Again, the inconsistencies that swept over him like high and low tides. He'd turned instantly from teasing to ordering, his voice firm though his hand casually patted the area next to him with a practiced nonchalance.

"You might eat my face, I'd rather not."

He styled a face of mock horror onto his features, as if he was greatly offended.

"You've got the most terrible morning jokes," he said. "Suit yourself."

He then laid back on his bed, lounging lazily in a sea of pillows befitting a "water king". Mariko hated herself, for her body moved towards the other side of the bed, but she allowed her body a moment's peace without her brain's obstinate objections.

"Beware, the water king may eat your face," he said, throwing at arm dramatically over his head. Mariko really wondered where this sudden personality change originated from, because he looked all of bored, amused, tired, and completely out of his mind at the moment.

"Are you all right?" she asked, stopping on the right side of the bed, the far side from where he laid.

"Finer than a happy duck," he quipped, making a jab at her explanation for bad mood the time before. She held her tongue and completely controlled her face. She didn't frown, only stared.

"You're clearly insane," she told him.

"Hmm," he said, interested. He stared at his hands. As if there were alien growths sprouting from his skin, he held his palms up to inspect them. "You're right, I feel loopy."

"You _are_ loopy. I'm not sure if you have multiple personalities, or what, but you're clearly not right in the head."

"That's _so_ kind of you," he muttered, rolling over so that his face was in his pillows. From Mariko's standpoint, he looked absolutely ridiculous. Then, the source of his agonizing strangeness: "I'm going to die today."

"Don't say that," the blunette snapped. Words spoken in that manner were detested because it was bad luck. One must think positively. At least, that's what her mother had always told her. Then again, Mariko supposed, a shinobi's life was probably vastly different from her princess activities on an eastern island. She also wondered where in the world any of her manners had gone. She spoke to him like she spoke to Katsurou – endless banter, comfortable jokes. "What do you mean, you'll die?" she inquired. "Did you drink something last night?"

"No. You wouldn't happen to have any experience in shopping for shoes, would you?"

She was getting tired of his apparent ease in either not answering or changing the subject. Especially when he was a little cuckoo, like now. He definitely drank something, but she wasn't sure what. A heavy wine, perhaps.

"Maybe," she said. "Any particular person you're shopping for?"

"The person who will kill me today," he mumbled into his pillow. She had to lean in closer to hear him clearly. The sudden turn of his head to stare at her startled her, so much so that she leapt backwards. His face turned into a smirk. "You are _so_ easy to scare. It's ridiculous."

"You're ridiculous."

"Am I?" He flipped over again, eyes on the ceiling. "So, Lady Princess, will you help me shop for a woman that may kill me today? Maybe it'll lessen the pain."

He grimaced, as if imagining something terrible. Then: "Maybe we could get the Uchiha to get in trouble and distract her. Always the Uchiha."

Having no idea what he meant, she sighed and threatened to leave. In fact, she saw no reason why not, for he seemed to be mulling over things by himself just fine. She made for the door, but just as he had every single time, he was up like a flash and his hand clamped down on her shoulder, spinning her around.

"Will you _stop_ doing that?!" she exclaimed, infuriated. The first time she'd tried running away from him, it had been an odd moment in the hallway, with her trying to get back to a room. The second time was just the opposite, and his tactic of escape was maddening. The third time she'd been discombobulated and rendered an incoherent blob, before Toka slammed in and saved the day. Mariko wasn't sure whether or not she'd liked that, what with the sensuous tingle zipping up and down her spine, her lips and neck and face all on fire…

No, she decided that it was a gift from the lord of river horses, because without Toka, who knows what would have happened. That, and she wanted to knock Etsuko's baby-making comment out of her mind at the very least.

"Stop doing what?" he asked, mildly amused but seemingly suffering from a headache. He winced, and his grip on her loosened.

"Grabbing me out of nowhere," she answered. "You don't just–"

"Snatch a Hurricane princess and eat her face? I think I gathered that."

She stared at him now, bewildered. The expression on his face was a mixture of fatigue and amusement, the latter of which she wanted to push off his lips. No, that was a bad idea, because the moment her eyes drifted down to his mouth, she had a recurrence of thoughts that had plagued her the night before.

"Oh, so you _do_ have a shred of intelligence?" Mariko blinked, forcefully drawing her gaze back up to meet his. But she'd been too slow, and the flash in his eyes let her know that he knew; and oh, was he enjoying it.

"I'm more intelligent than you think, Lady Princess," he slurred, coming dangerously close. She smelled it then, the slight, intoxicating aroma of a heavy, sweet drink.

"You're drunk," she accused, eyes narrowing.

"That was yesterday, my dear," he said, waving his hand in a failed imitation of his older brother's nonchalance. "Today, I am hung over. There's a difference."

"I don't know and I don't care," she said, shoving him away harshly. What she failed to realize was that his hand was still on her shoulder, and when he went down, he dragged her with him.

They fell backwards onto the bed, which was pleasantly soft with a slight bounce. He laughed then, a tired, throaty noise that sounded more like a frog's croak. Maybe he sounded so strangely because she had fallen on his chest, and was now stuffing a pillow in his face, or maybe he was truly too exhausted to function properly.

"Of course you don't know," he said, suddenly with a streak of soberness. "You're only nineteen, aren't you."

She was about to comment on how they had just celebrated her birthday, and how could he possibly forget? But then, she watched the hesitation play out in his muscles, as he tensed and wasn't sure where to put his hands. He was wary, hands floating just short of her waist. In a moment's decision, he'd adjusted himself and his hand touched her shoulders instead of the small of her back, and he slid out from underneath her, rolling her onto her back on the bed. Mariko expected something that would scare her brain right out of her head again, but instead, he moved away.

"Do me a favor?" he asked wearily.

"What?"

"If Mito comes to kill me, well…" he paused, then smirked. "There's not much you can do about that, is there? Oh well."

Folding his arms, his face became stony and serious. There it was, the mood change. This was the face he wore the most, the narrowed, solemn stare that he shot at everyone in range. The expression he had the first day she met him, and for most of the month after that.

"Why did you start talking to me?" she asked randomly, out of curiosity. The question seemed to irk him, for he made to move away. He didn't, though.

"I was told to." He glanced back at her to see her reaction, but there was none.

"Was is Hashirama?"

"Yes."

"Did you want to?"

"Not in particular." The soft expression that briefly crossed the firm set of his mouth indicated that he didn't hate their friendly jibes, but it wasn't his initial intention.

"Then why did you –"

She was cut off by a string of unspeakable oaths from his mouth. Dismayed yet relieved, for she had been about to ask why he'd kissed her, she sat up and asked what was wrong.

"Mito's coming."

Sometimes Mito came for Mariko to wake her and summon her to breakfast, but the redhead probably had no intentions of kindly knocking on Tobirama's door and telling him that his morning meal was to be served soon. Instead, she pretty much knocked the door down in the advent of her fury.

And seeing Mariko sitting patiently on his bed, her facial expression grew morphed into that of a terrible, beautiful demon.

"You. Out. Now." She pointed at Tobirama, then pointed out the door. Tobirama stood, but he sulkily dragged his feet, seemingly relaxed about his impending doom. As the door closed, Mariko found herself laying down in the downy comforters, wondering what in the world made Mito so fearsome. Then, the Uzumaki's purpose.

Wasn't this what they were supposed to do? Weren't they _supposed _to be together, since they were engaged? People were engaged either because they had to, they were in love, or both. The second idea still struck the blunette as appalling, because she couldn't sort out what emotions were what in her jumbled mind. It seemed that her body knew very clearly what she innately wanted, while her brain _still_ balked like Katrina on a bad day.

Tobirama stepped back in, live and whole. Well, mostly whole. He had a nasty bruise on his cheek, and looked like he'd been kicked in the groin, which he probably had. That would explain the extra loud exclamations from their — was it an argument? — discussion.

"You're alive."

"Hardly," he replied. He was more sober now, but still groggy, and it seemed that the ill-fated _talk_ with Mito had drained him. "Move."

She obliged, sliding over so that he could sit. However, he plopped himself unceremoniously onto the mattress, bouncing her at the other end. His forehead was shiny with sweat, and he looked paler than usual, even with his ghostly complexion.

Mariko took it upon herself to wiggled over and cradle his head in her lap. He was surprised, but he didn't fight her movements. Her fingers ran circular, massaging movements along his temples, and he closed his eyes. This was something she used to do for Katsurou and Ryouichi, when their diplomatic lessons became too much. Sometimes, Katsurou fell ill, scaring all of them, and the two sisters would spend hours clucking over him, cold towels on his forehead and massaging sore muscles.

One time, when both boys were exhausted, and Ryouichi had spent so many hours at his desk that his back had screwed into a tight knot, the First Princess made it their duty to relieve the Princes. Sumiko rubbed Ryouichi's shoulders, something he was immensely glad for, while Mariko rubbed Katsurou's temples. It was at times like this that they worried, because the way he paled and could hardly lift his own glass reminded them terribly of the queen's last year. They never said anything about it, though, and Katsurou was nowhere near the severity of their mother's unexplained illness. It had taken her heart, and even the skilled healers from Whirlpool were mystified.

Mariko's fingers fell into a regular rhythm, fingertips pressing on the dip of Tobirama's temples. Eventually, she found that he'd fallen asleep, chest rising and falling at a slow, steady rate. Resting against the headboard, hands resting lightly by the Senju's face, touching his jaw, the little blunette fell asleep as well.

When she came to, not realizing that she'd fallen asleep, she found a pillow stuffed behind her back and the blankets drawn up around a still-sleeping Tobirama. Finding comfort in Mito's acceptance of their time together, Mariko dozed off again.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ Ninjutsu is a curious thing. I'm still trying to figure out how water, fire, earth, and wind can be blown from the mouth so easily, as if there is a battery in your throat._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

After lunch, both Aokami princess and Senju albino refreshed from their nap, Tobirama tugged her — almost meekly — to the training grounds, where his team impatiently waited.

"Tobirama-_sensei_!" exclaimed Hiruzen, hands planted on his hips. "You're _late_."

"Not my fault," answered the white-headed man flatly. He jerked a thumb at Mariko. "Blame this one."

"I didn't do anything, for the record," Mariko quickly put in.

"Lady Princess, what brings you here?" Homura, the boy in glasses, asked softly. Mariko offered him a kind, open smile and poked Tobirama hard in the ribs. The Senju didn't even flinch, only blinked lazily at her.

"I think he means," Tobirama said, "why are you here in Konoha?"

"Don't tell me they don't know," Mariko exclaimed.

"They don't know," Tobirama drawled.

"Don't know what?" asked Hiruzen blankly. Then, as if forgetting the subject for one of greater importance, he demanded that they begin training now.

"You can go sit over there," Tobirama informed Mariko in a low voice, leaning down and pushing her towards a copse of trees. Mariko obeyed, though the entire time she felt his eyes on her back, where his hand had brushed her shoulder blades.

Without even waiting, Hiruzen spat out a fire jutsu so incredibly hot, Mariko could feel the blaze even from a distance. Out of the flame leapt the girl, whose hair was immaculately pinned up into buns, and never seemed to fall. Mariko thought she would be singed, but Hiruzen recalled his fire, the last licks of flame falling short of the kunoichi. The girl threw many senbon needles, but none ever connected with Tobirama.

Mariko held her breath. These were ninja.

"Above!" shrieked the girl, drawing a knife. Tobirama arched a brow at her and didn't even spare a glance above his head. Instead, he whipped around and intercepted Homura, who clashed so hard with Tobirama kunai-to-kunai, his glasses slipped down his face.

"Nice try, Koharu," called the Senju, leaping out of the way before the girl could connect her blade to his flesh. He then kicked Homura, who was fumbling with his glasses, square in the chest. The sound was a hard thump, and Homura flew as far as the river on Mariko's other side. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, amazed at the power.

Then, to her further amazement, Homura skidded along the surface of the raging river and stood up, defying the laws of physics and floating atop the water. He performed a sequence of hand seals, some of which Mariko recognized from Katsurou's brief, excited lessons, and a snake of water flew from his feet. Mariko saw the head of a dragon form, and in that instant, Homura became Katsurou, demonstrating to a delighted Second Princess the magic of ninjutsu.

A second water dragon appeared, however, that dwarfed the first one. This jutsu was immense, towering over Homura's, and it engulfed it all whole. Homura bit his lip and dove out of the way of the crashing waves, risking a glance at his sensei. Tobirama simply held one hand up, and the dragon looped through the air and came crashing down on the bespectacled genin.

Hiruzen was at his teammate's side as soon as the water cleared away, whilst Koharu tried her hand in close combat. Not amused, Tobirama, deflected each of her blows with ease. He flicked her in the forehead, hard, and she flew backwards, scrabbling in the dust. She held her forehead; it was bound to leave a nasty bruise.

"Slow," Tobirama commented.

Meanwhile, Hiruzen had taken another deep breath of air, and was readying himself to let loose a fireball. He didn't notice the thin serpent of water that crept up behind him. The moment before he let fly his jutsu, the serpent wrapped itself around him and splashed his face, negating his jutsu.

Mariko, trapped in wonder, tried to figure out how water could wrap around a person like physical ropes and whips. Wouldn't it just slip through? Or was this the power of chakra within nature? Perhaps there was shinobi energy flowing through the very molecules of water, supporting it and allowing one to manipulate it into a physical weapon.

"Time," called Tobirama. Hiruzen, dismayed, spluttered the water out of his face and shook his head, hair soaked. "That was disappointing," added Tobirama. "I hardly moved."

"It's not our fault our sensei's an insane shinobi," muttered Hiruzen. "You know, if we had a different sensei, we would've won."

"But?" prompted the Senju.

"We're glad we don't," admitted Hiruzen, shooting his teacher a satisfied grin. "I almost got you this time."

"Not really," spat the girl, still rubbing her forehead. She had a tendency to skirt around the boys and try to deal with their teacher on their own, but it wasn't very effective. Clearly, teamwork was the key here. "You never got close."

"At least I didn't get stuck in the river within the first five seconds this time," grumbled the boy, harrumphing and scuffing his toe in the mud. Homura, dripping just as much as Hiruzen, if not more, shuffled up to them and shivered.

"Think about it," Tobirama told them. "None of you helped Koharu, and Koharu, you didn't help the other two."

Hiruzen sniggered, Homura sighed, and—Koharu's face softened? Unexpectedly, the girl's harsh expression turned into one of embarrassment, and Mariko wondered at the change. However, she didn't have enough time to think more heavily on that topic, because Hiruzen had turned on his heel to face her.

"Lady Princess, do you know ninjutsu?" he called to her. Startled, Mariko stared at him, then glanced at Tobirama. The white-haired Senju folded his arms and offered her an encouraging nod. Though she wasn't reassured, Mariko stood and walked over.

"Less than the basics," she told him frankly. "A little bit."

"Can you show us?" Hiruzen's face was kind and warm, a friendly child who was willing to make friends with this blue-haired foreigner. He quite enjoyed it when she conversed with him and didn't wear her paints.

Mariko thought hard. She hadn't much experience, let alone practice. What could she do? Nothing, basically. An image of Katsurou surfaced, his hand molding a simple blade of ice, easily a lethal weapon. It was one of the first and only things he taught her, in order to have some form of self-defense.

Chakra. She focused on the chakra that flowed invisibly through her veins, an unusual power that she didn't feel on a normal basis. When she found what she believed to be an artery of energy, she channeled it to her hand and thought hard. Imagery was what Katsurou claimed helped form element molding jutsus. Soon enough, a solid knife made of ice built itself into her hand.

The children stared at her.

Tobirama stared at her.

"I can't do much more than some molding," Mariko told them timidly. She was a bit unsettled by their constant staring; was it silly? It was simple and basic, a novice mold.

"You have a Kekkei Genkai," Hiruzen stated, astounded. The expression of wonderthat passed through all the faces, even Koharu's, startled Mariko. Tobirama, even, marveled at the ice in her hands.

"It isn't cold?" asked Homura.

"No."

Tobirama strode up to her then, and took her hand. He lifted it and studied it, the fine crystal — the result of a wind and water chakra unison. When he let go of her hand, she let the blade dissipate into nothing, its only remainders a few droplets on her fingers and a chilly breeze.

"Can you do any other jutsu?" asked the Senju.

Mariko showed them a weak manipulation of water, and then one of air, but no real, solid jutsus. The most she could do was make a puddle float and a breeze pick up fallen leaves, with the addition of her fundamentally built knife. Tobirama nodded throughout all of this, and then considered.

"Join our training," he told her plainly.

It was Mariko's turn to stare.

_A wolf, Katsurou. Flip it all child, do you know what you have done?_

_ Promise me you'll stop learning ninjutsu._

She shook her head.

"I'm fine," she whispered, so quietly that only Tobirama could hear. He took note of the melancholy flicker that revealed itself in her face, and didn't bother her about it.

Katsurou may rebel and learn ninjutsu, but Mariko would obey for him.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ I saw amazing ninjutsu, but I myself can hardly do anything. Sumiko never had any interest in the use of chakra, and I'm not sure about Ryo. I turned down an offer to learn, and I think it was the right thing. Maybe I can learn hand-to-hand combat, though. I think it'd be useful to defend myself. Tomorrow, I'll ask._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Mariko yelped. She had tripped over a rock that turned out to be something other than a rock. When the "stone" moved and scrambled up a willow tree, she almost had a heart attack. Then, upon further inspection, she realized that it was a poor cat, a scrawny thing that could've have been more than half a year old. It was a brown and black tabby, with white feet, a white belly, a white nose, and a white-capped tail.

She immediately named him Tenzou, because Tenzou seemed like a nice name for the skinny feline, and eventually coaxed him into her arms. The cat decided that he liked the smell of the Hurricane girl, and curled up, purring. Mariko was fond of animals, and she was glad that they seemed to feel the same way of her.

First, she brought the cat to the barn, where Yodel sniffed the cat curiously. Tenzou was patient, and didn't claw at the horse's soft muzzle. Instead, he sniffed back, ears forward.

Next, Mariko introduced Tenzou to Arata, who dropped his currycomb and came to fondle the cat's soft ears.

"You should get him something to eat," suggested the horseman. Always concerned for animal welfare, Arata was on top of things. He pulled a can of tuna from out of nowhere — not out of nowhere, but Mariko had no idea where he got it on such short notice — and peeled the top back. Tenzou eagerly padded to the can and lapped up the fish, meowing adorably for more.

Deciding to take him inside, Mariko marched into the kitchen with an armful of cat.

Mito stared, and then gushed over the kitty, tickling Tenzou's chin and petting him for the longest time. Hashirama stared at his wife incredulously, as if he couldn't believe that the hot-tempered Uzumaki could coo over anything or anyone other than himself. Tobirama folded his arms and scoffed, asking why she brought a cat.

"I found him," Mariko explained. "His name is Tenzou."

"Tenzou, that's adorable," Mito giggled, fussing over the new Senju pet. "He'll have to be the outdoors type, though," she concluded sadly. "Unfortunately, we can't keep him inside here because no one's home, and not at the Hokage office either. Though I'd like that."

"I'd like it too," Hashirama piped up. "But it's messy enough in there without a pet."

"Let's not," said Tobirama flatly. He quickly shut up when Mariko shot him a malevolent glare that let him know that they were keeping the cat. Suddenly, he glanced out the window and announced: "Sasuke's back."

Indeed, Sarutobi Sasuke sauntered into the kitchen again, but this time his face was somber and lacked the laughter of his first visit.

"Danzo, again?" asked Hashirama. Sasuke nodded, leaning tiredly against the doorway.

"That child," Sasuke said, "tries to make it seem like he doesn't want friends, yet he clearly enjoys his time with Hiruzen. Then again, I think Hiruzen is the one looking after Danzo of his own account, because Danzo would keep away otherwise."

"Saru tends to have that nature," agreed Tobirama.

"Would you mind asking Hiruzen about it?" Sasuke asked. "I don't want to seem prying, because he's already accused me of spying on him. I don't get the big deal, though."

"Teenagers," stated Hashirama. "Tobirama was the same."

A glower from the albino, a chuckle from the brunet.

"He's ten," deadpanned Tobirama.

"_You_ were an annoying ten-year-old," Hashirama told his brother. He turned to Sasuke. "I'll ask Toka to tell me anything she's learned. Last time, she said there was nothing in particular that was strange about Danzo."

"I've been looking after that child and his mother ever since Shimura sacrificed himself," Sasuke said rather sadly. One could tell that he'd had a connection to Shimura, who Mariko imagined would be Danzo's father. (If only she could figure out which of the several children was Danzo, first.)

"You're doing well," Hashirama commended.

"It's hard for them," Sasuke continued. "Danzo feels the need to be a sacrificial piece, for his pride and honor. It's a twisted nationalism, the kind that those Shimura have. His mother says nothing, and knows that her son will die a brutal death in war one day for Konoha."

"He's young — he must grow up first," Mito said wisely. "Then, maybe, he can pass on his legacy to a younger generation and sacrifice himself at that time."

"Well," Sasuke said, pulling a smile onto his face and reverting to the recognizable cheer from last time. "At least I know the kid has friends. I believe that they're all good chums," he laughed, "Danzo's just a bit touchy when it comes to showing it."

"Sounds familiar," quipped Mariko with a quick elbow jab into Tobirama's arm.

"I like your sense of humor, Lady Princess," chuckled Sasuke, before swinging around to leave.

"I don't," muttered Tobirama, folding his arms.

* * *

The fact that Mariko kept cuddling the cat seemed to be a major annoyance to the white-haired Senju. At dinner, Mariko finally let Tenzou go — he jogged outside and clawed his way up the willow tree — and Etsuko found herself highly entertained by the exchange between her cousin and the blunette. Kell also watched the following exchange with a glimmer of amusement.

"Finally done with the cat?" lilted Tobirama, plunking a glass of water down in front of her.

"No, I've exchanged you for him," Mariko answered smoothly.

"You'd rather have the cat than me?"

"When did I ever want _you_?" Mariko smirked and took the glass, elegantly taking a sip that exuded a royally snobbish air. Mito gave the younger girl a grin of approval.

"Tobirama thinks everyone wants him," snorted Etsuko. Kell sneakily snatched a slip of cooked and salted meat from her plate. They were at a central hotpot, dropping various foods into the boiling pot of hot water, and waiting for them to cook. Not wanting to have to go through a process of picking up a slice of raw meat, letting it sit in the hotpot for a while, and then bringing it out and seasoning it for more taste, Kell took the easy go and snatched his fiancée's.

"That's surprising," Mariko replied. "He's a clumsy drunk who accidentally grabs people on his way to finding the floor."

Another scowl, and Mariko battled off Tobirama's grumpy attempts to imitate Kell and steal food off her plate. When did they progress to the point where they were fondly and silently arguing over the food on their plates?

"Drunk?" Mito said. Tobirama blinked at her owlishly, feigning innocence.

"So _that's_ where my wine went," Toka drawled, making a face. "Seriously, Tobirama, if you're afraid of me cutting off your manliness, then the last thing you should do is steal from my cellar."

"You weren't going to drink it any time soon," reasoned Tobirama.

"Wait, what is this about my brother's manliness?" interrupted Hashirama, completely lost as to what the conversation was referring to.

"So, today we witnessed Mariko's Kekkei Genkai," Tobirama suddenly blurted, swapping topics in an attempt to divert the conversation.

"Interesting," Mito said, then growled, "but we'll hear about that later. Hashirama, your brother—"

"Team Tobirama is exceptionally skilled for their age," Etsuko forcefully said across the table, far too loudly. "What are they, like almost eleven years old? That's impressive, they even use high-level element jutsus."

"Nice try, Etsuko," Toka drawled. "But you're not doing Tobi any good on this one."

Etsuko shrugged; at least she tried.

Tobirama stood.

"Sit, boy, you're not going _anywhere_ near my wine cellar," Toka snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at the albino.

"Just have Hash _grow_ the grapes and ferment them _for_ you," proffered Tobirama, slowly squeaking his chair backwards.

"Mariko, grab him," hissed Toka. To the pale woman's delight, the little blunette grabbed her fiancé's shirt sleeve and tugged.

He was pulled off center, but it didn't get him to sit. A simple hand on the sleeve was not about to stop the mighty Tobirama from escaping. He made a lunge for the door.

"Nugget, you get back here!" screeched Toka. It would've sounded hilarious, had he not been running for his manhood. Then, to Toka's glee, Mariko stood.

She jumped on him.

Arms wrapped around the man's waist, she dragged him down. Tobirama grunted, surprised to suddenly have a small pair of hands wrapped around his midsection. His eyes widened, and Mariko took the chance to swing around him, kick the door closed, and glare.

"That's my cowgirl," Mito sang proudly. "You've got nothing on her, Tobi."

Tobirama, at a loss, looked to Hashirama for help. It was a younger brother's plea, with the most uncharacteristic but convincing puppy eyes a grown man could make.

"Sorry, Tobi, but I want to know why Toka was after your lower regions," Hashirama informed his sibling flatly.

"I wasn't _after_ them," snarled Toka, taking the way he phrased his sentence the wrong way in her rage. "I was going to _destroy _them."

"That sounds unpleasant," Etsuko commented, with as straight a face as she could. Kell patted her leg, and she threatened to burst into giggles.

"That _is_ unpleasant," Hashirama agreed.

"If it makes you feel any better," Mito offered, "I kicked him in the crotch this morning."

"That only makes me feel slightly better," Toka replied.

"What is going on, someone tell me," Hashirama called, exasperated.

Toka was about to open her mouth, but in that instant, Tobirama vanished in a puff of white smoke, a cloud that hailed the dispelling of a clone jutsu. The two women cursed, Hashirama shrugged, while the engaged couple let their laughter resound throughout the room. Mariko stared at the now-empty chair, incredulous.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ He needs to stop scaring me half to death, seriously. Did Dad ever creep up on you in the halls consistently and try to surprise you? I'm not sure where he's going with this. It's becoming like a stalking game, now. In the morning, I look for him, and later, he looks for me. It's like we're confused all the time._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

A hand snaked around her waist and pulled her into the piano room. She opened her mouth, but his second hand clamped around her face so that she couldn't utter a word. He shushed her, murmuring something about Mito coming to lecture him again, as she had the night before.

"Let go," she hissed when he released the hold on her mouth. Her back was lined along the curve of his chest, and she was terribly conscious of the lean, muscled arm around her body. He was warm, and smelled like soap, his hair slightly damp from a very recent shower. He was clad in a terribly thin shirt, an old white tee that had the sleeves ripped off neatly for summer wear. She could feel the hardness of his toned chest and abdomen right through it, and her if her mind controlled her vocal chords, she would've been screaming at him.

He didn't let go, but rather, spun her around in his arms and studied her, too closely for comfort. A moment of hesitation, where he seemed to be struggling internally, and couldn't decide what to do next. She tried pushing him away, but he had a firm grasp on her shoulders, and was now staring at the blue sash that ran around her morning robe.

"You look like you just got out of bed," he stated.

"I did," she grumbled.

"Are you always this grumpy in the morning?"

"Answer that yourself."

"I think Shorty needs some coffee."

"I don't drink coffee, and don't call me that."

"Fine, Shorty, I'll get you some orange juice. Would you like a kid's size?"

He said this so directly, into her face, that she couldn't really say anything. Mariko wanted to spit a fancifully smart retort at him, but couldn't quite think of one. Instead, she pursed her lips into a frustrated pout, and didn't realize the effect it had on him. At the same time her eyes dropped from his eyes to his nose to his lips, they were already on hers, and she went rigid with conflicting desire and shock.

There was no Toka to walk in on them, this time, because her back was to a closed door, and Mito had long since passed. She had a feeling that Tobirama's skill in the sensory apartment was well aware of who was around and who was not, and if he was kissing her, then he was sure that no one would bust down the door and rip him to pieces.

"To—"

He silenced her, despite wanting badly to hear her say his name, be it in a confused, angry, or practically melting manner.

"Shorty," he said when they pulled apart for a split second, before his hands began to slide down to her waist and her arms timidly came around his neck. She shivered pleasantly at his touch, and relished the warmth of his hands, surprised that they weren't icy this one time. The skin of his neck was hot, and she reached her fingers to the nape of his neck, where his still-damp hair glistened water onto her hands.

"Mm?" Her hands roamed back down and traced his collarbone, then circled to his throat, then his jaw, then the sides of his face.

"You sure you've never done this?" It came out as a mashed sort of mumble, as he was currently trying to dance his tongue with hers, pressing the princess against the door firmly.

"I'm—" She gasped when his left hand ran up her thigh suggestively. "—sure."

"Could've fooled me."

"I can't fool anyone." And it was true, because she was horribly honest at times, and plotting and conniving never turned out successful for her. She'd concocted a strategy in which she'd ride to the southern coast and somehow find passage to Uzushiogakure, but clearly it hadn't come to fruition. In fact, it had gaping holes and there was no way she could've pulled such a stunt without falling into some sort of trouble or the other. The one time her mother asked if she'd studied, when she didn't, she tried to lie, and was caught almost immediately. It was the soft face and the kind eyes, nothing like the cunning of Katsurou or the manipulative ways of a foxy, sly Sumiko.

Her hands were on his face, which was clean-shaven and had a strong, defined jaw. His hands were touching places she never knew could be so on fire, and suddenly her fluffy morning robe, a rather embarrassing outfit to be caught in, was far too stuffy.

Of course, instead of Toka, this time another hindrance got in their way.

Late for special taijutsu training that day, Tobirama had left Hiruzen and company marooned at Training Grounds 5. If, perhaps, he'd arranged for one of the farther training areas, the couple might've had a few minutes more of passion. But, as fate would deem appropriate, the thunder of a ten-year-old was unmistakable, and his voice boomed loudly down the hall.

"Damn Saru," swore Tobirama, fishing a rather amused, bewildered expression onto Mariko's face. He'd shifted the moment they'd entered the house, but even then, they were already pressed on the couch, hands intertwined and lips locked. When the footsteps of three children were heard passing the kitchen, Tobirama hastily pulled himself up. The tiny whimper of dismay that came from beneath him nearly pulled him back, and he would've happily buried himself in pleasure, but Hiruzen was bounding at a frighteningly high speed towards the piano room.

"Training," muttered Mariko, through a few last kisses, light as a feather while his hands rubbed her back. She wasn't quite sure, but somehow, her legs were straddling his waist and she was sitting on his lap, and they were still rocking back and forth on the loveseat. "Can I come with you?"

"Mm, yes," he agreed, one hand subtly sleeking itself up her stomach, tracing the curve of her breast, and then settling on her collarbone.

When Hiruzen, who was busy checking nearly every doorway, found them in the room, Mariko was seated at the piano bench, and Tobirama was lounged in an artfully lazy pose on the couch. The princess's hands touched middle C, and then glided up in an arpeggio. She feigned surprise at seeing Hiruzen, and then welcomed the other two that appeared behind him.

The only thing that bothered her was the eyes Koharu made when she glanced from Tobirama to Mariko, making the blunette wonder if there was something on her face that screamed make-out session. A mark, ruffled appearance, messy hair?

"I play the trumpet," Hiruzen told her, a random piece of information that jolted her back to reality. She was currently replaying the fascinating spark of hotness that had ignited in her core when his hands hand graced the curve of her hips.

"That's lovely," she commented.

"Hiruzen, you don't play the trumpet," Homura said sincerely. "You can hardly play anything, and even if you tried, it would sound like a dying cow."

"Just because I'm not musically talented doesn't mean I'm not talented," Hiruzen replied indignantly. A very true fact, and Mariko admired his bout of eloquence on the subject. However, Koharu seemed set on backing up Homura's statement with her own jab at the middle boy.

"No, it just means you can't do anything quite right," she sneered. "Which is true."

"It's not."

"It _is_."

"No, just ask Kagami or Shiro or Danzo or Torifu or—"

"Or Biwako?" Koharu planted her hands on her hips. There was something that Mariko recognized in Hiruzen's horror, a glimmer of hurt in his wide eyes that told her this comment hurt in particular.

"Anyone up for dango?" called Tobirama, wiping his face on his shirt.

"In the morning? I just ate breakfast," Mariko said. He made a face at her that seemed to say: _You just ate my face, are you calling me breakfast?_

It was enough to provoke a smile from her, but then she noticed Koharu again. She was stealing quick glances at Tobirama, almost as if it was forbidden for her to do so. In the practice fields, she was focused to a fault and determined to take the upper hand. If it meant staring down the white-haired Senju, she did so without a problem, and she made quite the intimidating face. But here, in a casual setting, she had trouble looking at him straight, as the boys did easily.

Mariko recognized that, too.

So she smiled at Koharu, receiving a startled grimace and a defiant shift towards the door, the girl seemingly resolute in her decision not to meet Mariko's gaze.

"I did too, but can we go later?" inquired Hiruzen, leader of the trio.

"Sure, why not," Tobirama said. Homura was obviously suspicious of their teacher's uncharacteristically bright attitude this fine morning, though any of his guesses as to why this was happening were far, far off the mark. Tobirama was irked that he'd been interrupted again, but his lip-lock had been satisfying enough — he would later tell her she tasted like raspberries, if that was even possible, effectively turning her face into something of a similar shade — and he was pleasantly letting his team feel its results. "That is," he abruptly added, "If you can catch me."

He ran out the door.

Shrieking with laughter, Hiruzen followed, while Homura and Koharu moaned in unison and chased their troublesome teammate and teacher outside.

Perhaps, Mariko thought, if she took Yodel without a saddle and only a quickly thrown on bridle, she could beat them to their destination.

Stopping by her room quickly to throw on some appropriate clothes before rushing to the stables, Mariko raced them there.

* * *

I ended with a yummy scene (what stupid interference? I see none, only a monkey and two grumpy hokage advisors =3= )

after treating you to...

Hung over Tobirama.

Angry, protective women.

Ah, don't forget moody Tobirama.

Sexual jokes, the lolz.

Emo Danzo.

And no plot, bwahaha.

Plot shall return, though. XD

**Microsoft Word report: **92 pages, and then some. Whoo! \\(w)/


	7. Magic

So, I kept going and going, then decided to cut this one at a certain point because it seemed like an adequate chapter ending.

**Note: **Plot returns! Sort of. I'm also evil, apparently, because I cockblock everything. EVERYTHING. (evil laugh here)

**Disclaimer: **You know that Naruto's not mine, right? I mean, where have you ever heard of Hurricane?

**Note 2: **Thanks for all the follows and faves and lovely reviews - you guys make my day ~

* * *

**Chapter 7: ****Magic**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ I have learned how to walk on water._

_ Actually, I have not learned. I just fall straight through. Though, I think being able to stand for a total of ten seconds isn't all that bad for a person who has never learned chakra control before._

_ It doesn't help that he laughs at me._

_ Let me correct myself, because he _doesn't_ laugh. He just smirks, and it's aggravating. My only friend today in "training" was Yodel, who ate the grass next to the river, nice and warm in the sun while I nearly froze to death. He let me hug him, though. Yes, I hugged the horse instead of Tobirama, because could you imagine how silly I'd look?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Direct your chakra to your _feet_, Shorty, not your hands." He was stoic and stern, the passionate man from just an hour before gone. Mariko found this amusing – when she'd asked to tag along, he'd been so overly eager and unwilling to let her detach herself from him. That was well and all, but now he was having a cruel sort of fun watching her fail at basic shinobi skill training.

"I don't even _know_ if I'm using chakra at all," she muttered, folding her arms and mirroring the grim set of his mouth.

"How can you not _know?_" piped Hiruzen.

"Think about when you didn't know how to use jutsu," Koharu told him. "Oh wait, you still don't."

Hiruzen sulked at his female teammate's insult, though he seemed well-adjusted to her temperamental and harsh ways. Meanwhile, Homura stroked the horse's nose and let himself wonder at the lovely sheen of chocolate brown that the animal was, produced from hours and hours of good brushing and care.

Mariko stared at the river.

"How do you know my chakra's in my hands?"

"Lucky guess." Tobirama stepped up to her, and addressed her sternly. "Step on the creek."

It wasn't a wide river in this area, trickling steadily but not fast, and went up just a bit past her knees. Well, it would have been around knee-deep, exactly, but she wasn't the tallest person out there.

"No."

"I'll push you."

"That defeats the purpose of this," she emphasized.

"No, the purpose is for us to laugh at you."

Her face turned from one of horror to one of confusion to a Mito-worthy glower. He grabbed her hand and led her towards the water, but she planted her feet stubbornly and refused to budge. Tobirama threatened to pick her up and dump her in the water, and Mariko couldn't discern whether or not he was serious. When he made to grab her, she yelped and ducked out of his reach so that she was on his other side, away from the creek.

"Sensei, are we playing tag now?" called Hiruzen sarcastically.

"Sure, Saru, help me catch the wild Shorty," replied Tobirama, eyes narrowing at Mariko. His one eyebrow arched, amused, and she flushed. She tried to look dignified, tried to organize herself, but he scoffed, and her "princess-like" posture went out the door. Lunging at him, she shoved him backwards – into the water.

She expected a splash, but she didn't get one.

"It's easy," he said, recovering with no trouble. There was a slight disturbance to the creek when he hit its surface, but the stream itself ran easily around him, and he stood on top of it. No, more like he sat on it, causing her to think of why he wasn't getting wet.

Then, Koharu walked over briskly.

"If she doesn't want to, she doesn't want to," she stated flatly, surprising the blunette. The girl had come to her aid. Mariko had assumed from the cold shoulder that the young kunoichi wasn't all that fond of her; and maybe she wasn't, and there was some ulterior motive to this.

"Koharu, chill your beans," drawled Hiruzen, sauntering over and stepping onto the creek as well. "See? Not so bad."

"That's because you know how already," Mariko said a bit helplessly. She wasn't about to humiliate herself so openly.

Before she knew it, Tobirama, as he always did, launched from his position and grabbed her wrist, pulling her forward.

Plunking her into the river.

"Tobirama!" she yelled, choking on water, for she'd tripped and was now kneeling in the cold current.

"What was that, Shorty?"

"Pulling me in doesn't give me _any_ chance to learn!" she exclaimed, dismaying at her current state. Shivering and wet, ends of her long blue hair soaked and her clothes heavy with water, Mariko glared.

"You would think that one would enjoy a cold dip on a hot summer day," Tobirama mused out loud. Hiruzen snorted, and Mariko crawled out of the river, shamefaced. Discouraged and mortified by what had just happened, she huffily trekked her way over to Yodel. The gelding stopped his content munching on grass to greet her, nosing her wet shirt.

Tobirama's small smirk dropped then, and he made a move to retrieve her.

"Mariko."

The fact that he didn't call her "Shorty" turned her around, and she poured as much hurt as she could into her expressions for him to see. She didn't want to learn ninjutsu. It had been fun at first, watching Tobirama spar with his team, and then him asking her to try something with her chakra. But she wasn't a shinobi, she couldn't walk on water, climb up trees, or even produce either of the two.

"Come back," he said, but it was not a statement to have her return. Unused to having to plead, a man steady with the idea that he would always get his ways, Tobirama paused, befuddled with himself. It was an odd expression on him, for he had a slim face and sharply defined features that belonged with the cold, callous attitude he usually produced. It was only at home or with his students, in a moment of comfort, that he wore a slim smile. Mariko realized she'd never seen him on a mission, or at a council meeting.

"I'm going to go," she excused lamely, grabbing a handful of Yodel's ebony mane.

"You're not," he corrected her. He didn't grab her this time, but blocked her from grabbing Yodel's bridle and slipping it onto his head.

Then, it seemed like he was going to lean in and beg for her to stay with a kiss – in front of his students – but he only whispered in her ear: "Forgive me, I'll teach you properly."

His hand brushed hers, and she relented with a sigh. She turned to find the three children peering at them curiously, Hiruzen baffled, Koharu brooding darkly, and Homura in real surprise. Each of their expressions denoted a different thought: Hiruzen was baffled, which was to be expected if Tobirama was the judge. Meanwhile, Mariko had a brewing suspicion as to why Koharu was so austere and stiff when she was around. Finally, Homura seemed to have had a revelation, marveling at the little things he noticed; namely, Tobirama leaning close to her and their hands touching briefly. From there, he deduced the rest of the situation easily.

Mariko stood at the edge of the riverbank, her shivering ceasing within a few moments. Growing more comfortable, she channeled that same, smooth feeling that she felt course through her when she tried making blades of ice or floating pools of water. It was a strange feeling, an unused one, and the chakra seemed to be picking its way slowly through her nerve system.

"To your feet," Tobirama said. "Imagine a snowshoe, flat and steady to balance you atop the snow."

She could see the logic; rather than walking across a snow-heavy land, she was walking on the surface of water.

"Now shrink that snowshoe and have it fit your foot. Imagine it is an upward lift, your are buoying and bobbing, you are equally balanced between the water's surface tension holding you up, and gravity pulling you down. Don't float – stand."

This somewhat made sense, so Mariko pictured a water spider, gliding effortlessly across the water, its teeny feet delicately atop the water, never breaking the surface tension.

She looked up, eyes opening slowly. Her feet were on water, and she held it precariously. She slowly breathed in an out, and marveled at the way the water was circling round her toes, how she stood upon it like it was as moving piece of glass floor.

"Lady Princess, you did it!" exclaimed Hiruzen.

Concentration broken, Mariko's chakra balance jarred unevenly and she fell right through the creek's gurgling surface. She would have soaked herself completely again, had Tobirama not stepped up quickly beside her to catch her elbow and then haul her back up again.

"Saru, shut up," hissed Koharu.

"Guys." Homura waved.

"Koharu, why are you so mean to me?" pouted Hiruzen, shoulders slumping. During his moment's conversation with his teammate, Tobirama had held Mariko by the arms till she regained somewhat of a stance on the water. She fell through after about seven seconds, however.

"_Guys_."

"I'm not mean, I just state the truth."

"You're moody, you know that?" Hiruzen folded his arms and squinted his eyes comically, as if he should lighten the mood this way.

"You're dull, you know that?" countered Koharu, glaring. She was not happy, and it probably had nothing really to do with Hiruzen himself, but with something that bothered her. Hiruzen, unaware of the fact that Koharu's irritability was all from her head, he kept going.

"At least I don't gawk at Tobirama-sensei when—"

Before he could say another word, Koharu smacked him across the face. The impact of the slap was loud, a resounding clap that made the clearing go ominously quiet. Tobirama set Mariko down on land and then stared at his students.

Hiruzen rubbed his cheek, which smarted badly. An unexpected tear that formed in the corner of his eye slid onto his face, from the shock of the hit.

"_Guys_," insisted Homura a third time, ignoring what just happened. Tobirama caught on fast, and turned to where Homura was trying to gesture towards. His eyes widened at what he saw.

A blue-haired man, tall with broad shoulders, his arms folded nonchalantly, smiling at Mariko.

* * *

Shrieking, Mariko leapt away from the group, cold feet and soaked clothes and all. She leapt into her older brother's opened arms and began to sob pathetic, fat tears of joy. He held her tight and tucked his head to her shoulder, and from a distance, they looked like an odd being with a ruffled blue mane.

Mariko must've said his name a thousand times, but he just laughed, a comfortable, familiar rumble in his chest.

"Welcome to Konoha, Lord Prince." The voice was flat, but Mariko read it in his stance. He wasn't sure if he was happy or not to see the Second Prince of Hurricane, and he certainly wasn't expressing any obvious joy, as she was.

The dubious smirk that Katsurou gave Tobirama was so unexpectedly amusing, Tobirama had to return it.

"You must be Tobirama, then," he said, offering a hand. The Senju shook it firmly, and the two men exchanged a solemn glance. It was the sort of mutual male communication that never failed to baffle Mariko, so she kept her nose out of it.

"What brings you here at this time, Lord Prince?"

"Call me Katsurou," the blue-haired man replied. "And I've come on my way to find my Aunt Tari and the two healers. They were scheduled to return a message by carrier pigeon, but it never came."

"Whatever the circumstances, welcome," Tobirama said. He was suddenly distracted by the look of distress that crossed Mariko's face.

"What happened to Aunt Tari?" she asked frantically, tugging at Katsurou's shirt. He didn't push her away or even look at her, just sighed.

"I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair. "That's why I'm here."

"I didn't hear the bugles," she said.

"That's because I disguised myself in Frost Country garb," he drawled, grinning. He gestured to the puffy parka and hood, lined with coyote fur, and then the navy trousers lined with an immense number of pockets. A kunai pack was strapped to his leg, and he wore shinobi-issue sandals, though from which shinobi nation, she had no idea. Judging from the unique wrapping around his legs, it was probably Cloud style.

"You look like a shinobi," she accused.

"I am a shinobi," he answered. Then, "Well, sort of. I saw you fall in the water, Mari."

"You didn't," she told him, eyes narrowed. It was a thing she often did when embarrassed; simply insist that nothing had happened, like her words could convince him otherwise. "That was him."

Jerking a thumb at a bored Tobirama, Mariko batted her eyelashes and appeared as innocent as humanly possible. It didn't quite work, but it pulled a laugh out of her older brother. Knowing well what she liked and disliked, Katsurou ruffled her blue hair fiercely, grinning as she squealed angrily.

"Lord Prince," Tobirama repeated, causing the taller man to glance at him. "If you seek information on the Tea Country healers, I suggest you return with us. The second heir to the daimyo is currently residing with us."

"Ah, Kell," deduced Katsurou, seeming to recognize the name. Mariko watched carefully; the ease with which her brother seemed to know the name irked Tobirama. It almost became a competition of knowledge — who knows more than the other. "Fine young man, though I only met him once. He's never been much of a traveler," he added. "I'm quite surprised."

"He's engaged to a Senju as well," Tobirama informed Katsurou dryly.

"_You have blue hair_," came the wondrous gasp. All three turned to find Hiruzen staring blatantly at Katsurou, then at Mariko, then back at Katsurou. "Are you all blue-haired, like the people from Mito-sama's land?"

"No, you idiot, they're not." A verbal slap by Koharu, and Hiruzen sulked again. He pouted, but the only receiver was Homura, who tried shoving him away. Poor Homura, who had realized that Katsurou had been there the whole time.

"You never know," Katsurou said lightly, and then chuckled at Koharu's defiant expression. "Actually, we're just mutants of these blue horses that live on our island. We even have blue hamsters and blue dogs."

"Seriously?!" exclaimed Hiruzen, sucked back into his enthused state.

"You _idiot_," Koharu growled.

"Koharu," Tobirama said firmly. The girl looked surprise, then embarrassed, her face softening into somewhat of a flushed frown rather than one of her glowers. "Well, Lord Prince—"

"Katsurou," Katsurou insisted.

"—if you'll follow me, we're just about done here."

Dismayed, the kids made sounds of disappointment in unison. Mariko, befuddled, stared at Tobirama. They hadn't been done, and even Katsurou knew it. But it seemed that the arrival of the Second Prince had put Tobirama in a sour mood, so she wasn't about to question it. She still poked fun at him, though.

* * *

"Lord Katsurou!" came the surprised exclamation of Kell, who nearly tripped mid-step. He would have made a devastating face plant, had Etsuko failed to grab his elbow and yank him back upright.

"If it isn't Kell," laughed Katsurou. "Last time I saw you, you were teeny!"

Kell, who was about a year or so older than Mariko, grinned at the sight of the blue-haired prince. Mariko tried to remember ever meeting Kell before her arrival in Konoha, but couldn't come up with a time when Hurricane interacted with the Tea Country at all.

Then there was Katsurou, who was forever loose with honorifics and titles. He called his own siblings by name, of course, but he'd bantered easily with the Hozuki lord without a title, and he hadn't attached any form of honorific to Tobirama's name. He didn't bother calling Kell by any title, though he was still officially second in line to the Tea's daimyo position, and he was generous with his own title (something Tobirama seemed to have ignored).

"Lord Prince, what are you doing here?" asked the bespectacled young man.

"Ah, you're all calling me that again." Katsurou waved his arms and made a face. It was rather comical, but Mariko found it increasingly comforting. The familiarity with which he'd stroked Yodel's nose, despite Yodel being a complete stranger of a horse, reminded her greatly of the times when they'd trot out into the fields together. She wondered if Katsurou missed his big black stallion in Hurricane.

"Ah, but what should I call you, Lor—"

"Katsurou," insisted the blue-haired prince. Then he turned to Mariko. "Gems, baby sister, did you grow taller?"

This was a joke, because she obviously hadn't (as far a she knew), and this was a recognizable form of mockery from Katsurou. She wasn't tall, and would probably never be as tall as Sumiko, even, so all she did was pout in her little body, puffing off steam with miniature tantrums.

"I believe I have," quipped Mariko. "You seem shorter nowadays."

"Impossible," scoffed Katsurou, rolling his eyes humorously.

"Lord Prince." Tobirama gestured towards the gate, where Hashirama was walking through, in the midst of a serious conversation with his wife. When the brunet looked up, his eyes widened at the sight of yet another colorful head in his home, and then he smiled warmly.

"Prince Katsurou, I'm going to guess?"

"It's an honor to meet you," Katsurou replied, shaking hands with the Hokage. "I've always wanted to meet the god of shinobi."

Hashirama laughed, and Tobirama folded his arms. His cold glare was growing more and more icy, and Mariko wondered if someone should dump a bucket of hot water on him. Luckily, Mito fit the bill, as she came over and slapped her brother-in-law hard on the back, and then sauntered over to Hashirama's side. Katsurou recognized the red-haired woman and greeted her happily.

Tobirama said something to Hiruzen, and the kids scuttled off.

"Where'd you send them?" asked Mariko quietly.

"To get something to eat," he replied.

"Lord— err, Katsurou, what brings you here?" stuttered Kell. Etsuko poked him in the ribs, and he straightened his spine. It seemed like the Tea boy needed some support when it came to formal dealings; though this was far from a formal meeting. He seemed uncomfortable, but Mariko couldn't fathom why.

"My Aunt Tari has yet to send a message home," Katsurou said, "so I'm just checking up on her. I understand it takes a while for messages to reach Hurricane, and even longer for me to receive them as well, but the current shinobi and messenger bird system should have brought it within days."

"But I just saw her," insisted Mariko. What was it, only three days ago, maybe? "It's impossible for mail to travel that fast, Katsurou."

"She was supposed to send it the day she was here, and mail travels far faster than a regular traveler," Katsurou replied.

"It would've taken a day and a half," agree Hashirama. The ninja summons were now highly-trained, high-speed birds — partially a courtesy by the Uchiha, a clan whose leader had a particular fondness for falconry — ranging from shinobi ostriches to messenger swallows. That, added with a new messenger system, where shinobi setting off on missions conveniently carried some mail, the rate and number of mail delivered increased.

"Is that even possible?" asked Mariko dubiously. Her own trip had taken a good portion of her month.

"It is," Mito said. "Some places use reverse summoning to take mail from one area to another. You just have to have the same seals and patterns."

Mariko made a face at this. Ninjutsu was far too complicated for her, and she felt horribly left out whenever dinner conversation slipped into debates on the intricacies of the Hyuuga's Gentle First attack on the tenketsu and how effective hitting a certain spot on the enemy's wrist was.

"Stay as long as you like," Hashirama was saying. "Or you may take Konoha shinobi with you if you wish to journey farther south."

"Perhaps a day or two," concluded Katsurou. "Thank you for your hospitality, I appreciate it greatly."

"Kell." Hashirama motioned to the young man. "I need to talk to you later."

A strange resolve came over Kell's face as he nodded. Mariko, increasingly confused, only noticed that Tobirama's layer of ice had returned, and with a vengeance.

What she didn't notice, however, was the apprehensive glance that Katsurou gave the white-haired Senju.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Is Sumi going to show up on the Senju doorstep next? Or what? _What_ is going on? Tonight we had the most awkward dinner ever. I think I'll go brush Yodel, because the awkwardness lingers._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Katsurou, in the morning, spoke of a lovely Konoha sleep last night, which made little sense to Mariko because he slept like a hibernating bear on any day. Then, at lunch, he praised Mito's cooking as if it was the most glorious thing upon earth; another ironic statement, because Mariko knew very well that Aunt Tari's pie was forever Katsurou's favorite food, and here he was insinuating that there was something far better. Not that Mito's cooking was bad — it was glorious — but Katsurou was trying far too hard to please, and it was so unlike him that his little sister had trouble comprehending it.

At dinner, things got, bluntly stated, _awkward_.

"Kell, do tell what you think of life here," said Katsurou in a conversational manner. Basically, he meant: Do you like your Senju fiancée? This was subtly aimed at Mariko, with amused undertones.

"It is lovely," replied Kell, before spooning some "extravagantly delightful" dish onto his plate. "I enjoy it here very much."

"And you, baby sister?"

"I have to agree with Kell," Mariko offered, for she wasn't quite sure there was anything else to say. She couldn't blurt out how lonely she felt sometimes and how confusing Tobirama was, how she longed for Katrina and how poor Yodel tried his hardest to make up for it all.

These were things she would have divulged to the still-spunky older brother across the table had they been a few years back and still living in Hurricane. But it had been about seven years, more or less, since Katsurou moved to the Frost. Though he visited often, it just wasn't the same.

"Your baby sister struggled at first without her face paint," Hashirama commented. "But really, it was more like a butterfly shedding its cocoon."

"This one's a big romantic," joked Mito, rolling her eyes. Tobirama made a noise that sounded halfway between a scoff and a laugh, a deriding sneer on his lips.

"Sumiko was the same," mused Katsurou. "She said that her husband tried scrubbing her face with a sponge one day when she reverted to the pastel mask for comfort."

Mariko stared. Sumiko never hid herself.

What was wrong with Katsurou?

"So, Tobirama, what do you think of my dashing baby sister? Is she annoying you, yet?" Katsurou offered a broad smile.

"She's quite the nuisance," deadpanned Tobirama, giving away nothing. Katsurou's brows arched at the sarcastic comment.

"I take it you get along, then?" He gestured between the two of them, and Mariko felt immensely uncomfortable. He was now trying to provoke some answers from them — had they fallen in love, or something ridiculously mushy of the sort?

"Hardly," Tobirama replied in the same, flat voice. Hashirama shot his brother a warning glance, and Mito looked like she was restraining herself. Hashirama's hand was on hers; if it hadn't, she might have slapped Tobirama. Mariko had a funny feeling that she would have enjoyed Mito's sass at the moment.

Tobirama stood. "Excuse me, but I'll be leaving the table early. Enjoy your meal."

At least he was polite about it, Mariko thought with a visible grimace. Katsurou stared at his future brother-in-law. His eyes, in particular, followed the path of the albino's hand, which remained on Mariko's shoulder longer than he felt it should have. Then again, that seemed strange, because weren't they supposed to be close?

"Mariko." He was straight when Tobirama had left. "What do you really think?"

The question, the severity of Katsurou's tone, all surprised the table members. The focus was on the Second Princess.

"I'd tell you," she said nonchalantly, "but I wouldn't."

"Sumiko told me everything, and I helped her."

Was this an argument? It sure felt like it to Mariko, and the irritated itch that crawled in her gut was urging her to escape. They were in front of the head of the Senju household and their Whirlpool friend, among others. Emerald eyes locked on ones of the exact same hue, challenging, questioning, doubtful.

"And?"

"Tell me, Mariko. We haven't a clue how you've been doing."

"I'm fine." Confusion crept through her mind, and billions of questions for herself and for everyone else began surfacing. For one, Tobirama. What was his motive behind this all? She highly doubted he'd suddenly fallen head over heels for her, and that her own desire was a high produced from his drug-like actions. Next — what was Katsurou trying to get out of all of this? He was clearly not himself, something that happened when he was stressed. Perhaps he _was_ stressed. Mariko took that into consideration.

"Lady Mito," Katsurou suddenly said, flipping to another subject entirely. Well, a related topic, along the lines of what he was trying to coax from Mariko. "Would you mind telling how you felt when you first moved here?"

Mito considered the blue prince for a moment. Then: "I was terrified but excited both at once. Apprehensive and hateful, actually. I wanted to see Konoha, but I didn't want to get married."

She patted Hashirama's arm.

"I ended up with this fellow, which I don't think is so bad." She smiled when Hashirama whipped around to stare at her incredulously, brown hair whirling in a curtain and nearly dipping into his food. "Honey, your hair is trying to be pasta again."

Hashirama shook his head and tucked his hair back, still eyeing his wife both fondly and in a somewhat amazed manner. Mariko tried to puzzle out their love, but it came to her as a maze. Everything worked, yet everything had its own problems.

"Do you think Mariko will be happy?"

This question was the one that Mariko wanted to bolt from. It seemed, terribly, as if her own brother was trying to be a fatherly figure. He was speaking like she wasn't even at the table.

"She will—"

"Be happy," cut in Toka, "if I don't cut off—"

"Shush, Toka," snapped Mito, rolling her eyes at cutting off the cutter off (of both words and other important things).

"I'm going to excuse myself early, too," Mariko announced quickly, slipping out of her seat and whirling her plate over to the kitchen door, where she pushed through and hurriedly rinsed it in the sink. She didn't look back to see the curious looks on everyone's faces, nor did she consider how she had looked and sounded at the moment. Surely, it was the most awkward departure one could make, but she didn't really care at the moment.

Running out to the corner of the complex, she found Yodel in his stall and stroked his nose.

The person she least wanted to see was there, and he was stacking bales of hay to pass his time. His toned muscles bulged as he lifted another bale and tossed it up to the loft from a ladder he'd climbed halfway. He ignored the itchiness of the straw scratching his arms, and he hauled them up by their bindings without gloves.

Upon finishing, he turned.

"Bad dinner?"

"I just didn't want to listen."

He didn't answer, but he agreed.

"Do you ride?" Mariko asked up to the loft, where he was now sitting with Tenzou the cat, rubbing the tabby's silken ears. It was a question to distract her from the mess she'd made. In fact, looking at the conversation as a whole, nothing had really been wrong with it. Her own mind had twisted it, her stress levels distorting the meanings to everything and making her believe that Katsurou was trying to indicate something. And maybe he was.

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do," she replied to the contradiction, recalling their brief gallop, seated double on Yodel's back. She stroked the bay's neck slowly and deliberately, as if her next life decisions depended on the way she gingerly followed the swirl of hair under his mane.

"Not really." The cat pushed away from him and clambered away, along rafters and wooden bars, somehow making his way to the ground.

She imagined Katrina, grazing calmly in the paddock.

The smell of grass and baking bread, floating in a pleasant mix from palace kitchen to the open fields.

She thought of Ryouichi, pointing out a particularly bright red cardinal.

Her mother, teaching her the alphabet.

But instead, Mariko's eyes opened to a dark brown gelding, a stark contrast from the tall, brilliantly dappled mare she pictured. And she saw a brown barn, and outside, a pleasantly colored clan complex. The smells were of horses and hay, which was of some comfort to her, but the sights before her hardly matched the ones swirling in her brain.

Instead of Ryouichi, there was a white-haired Senju, watching her thoughtfully.

And where her mother should have been, there was no one.

* * *

The second morning after that, Katsurou was gone. Not a word spoken to Mariko, leaving her in a devastated state. He hadn't explained any of his actions.

"He's following a lead," Tobirama informed her. Mariko hadn't a clue what that meant.

"What lead?"

"Well, he's looking for your aunt, right?"

Mariko wrapped an arm around Yodel's head as she bridled him, copying the horse's doleful expression. Yodel seemed to always look sad, that is, until they cantered out into the fields. He took the bit with some resistance, as usual, but eventually opened his mouth and accepted the metal bar. It jingled as he played with it in his mouth.

"You coming to training?"

Lies and more lies. Tobirama was going on a mission today, and he knew that she was well aware of this fact.

"Another D-rank?" she mocked lightly.

He scowled.

"Maybe."

"What is it now, catching the neighbor's cat?"

"It's a C-rank, and we're just dealing with some minor bandits," he claimed, folding his arms. Mariko smirked; she had seen his team's last chase after a D-rank cat, one so wily and swift that they'd somehow ended up in the far north, screeching across the fields that Mariko so often trotted through with Yodel and Arata.

"Ah, so you're dealing with yourself?" It was a bad joke, but she smiled anyway. He continued glowering and shook his head, brushing away, suddenly cold. It baffled her, his ability to switch from hot to cold and back. It made her wonder if anything had happened. His expression was almost yearning, as if to share a certain point with her, but then a fierce scowl would overcome him, and it vanished.

Mariko tightened the girth, and Yodel flickered an ear backwards. After a few final adjustments, she led him to the mounting block — he may have been smaller than Katrina, but Mariko still couldn't quite swing up as easily as she could on her old pony Maki — and put her foot in the stirrup iron. Tobirama watched from beside the gelding's shoulder, ignoring the poor bay when he asked for treats. The Senju pushed the snuffling muzzle away and idly fiddled with one of the straps on the bridle, straightening it unnecessarily.

Puzzled, Mariko gathered her reins and met his gaze. Tobirama wasn't the type to twiddle his thumbs or fumble around.

"Lady Prin—"

The glare that Tobirama shot at his dark-haired cousin was silencing. Arata, hands tightening around the reins, paused. He was atop a lithe white mare today, a fine animal with a pink nose and light hooves. Her face was pleasantly dished and her neck finely arched, a pretty thing to look at. But Tobirama took none of this in, only shot daggers through his eyes at Arata till he led the white mare away.

"What was that for? We're about to leave," snapped Mariko, pulling Yodel away and directing him towards the gate.

"Nothing."

"You're awfully moody," she told him, before pressing her calves to Yodel's sides and encouraging a more lively walk. Tobirama, however, had a fairly long stride, and kept up without much of a problem. "Don't you have a mission?"

"At noon."

"Maybe you should get a head start on those bandits," she suggested, nodding pointedly towards the east entrance to the Senju clan area.

"They're just some weak rogue nin, probably from Kusa or something."

"Weak to _you_, maybe." She desperately wanted to urge Yodel into a brisk trot, but she had a feeling Tobirama would beat her to the gate anyway.

"My team would be fine," he replied.

"What about me?" she asked tersely, swinging Yodel around. "I can't even walk on water."

"You have a horse."

Quietly, he folded his arms and leveled her gaze. He was being stubborn, and every single word was deliberate. Mariko did her best not to let on that he'd gotten into her head, but she failed miserably. She harshly jabbed her heals into her poor horse, sending him into a jagged trot back to the barn, where Arata was waiting patiently.

She had had enough of Tobirama messing with her. If he had intentions, then he'd better state them clearly.

* * *

Perhaps she should have stayed with Tobirama. Had she known that she would be so distracted as to not notice the party following her, then she would have stuck to a strong shinobi's side. Arata was skilled, and he'd picked it up right away; he always had weapons on him as well. But the moment he reached for his pocket, an arrow imbedded itself in his back, and he toppled from the dainty mare.

Immediately, the white horse whinnied and reared in fright. She leapt over her rider and thundered back where they'd come, instinctively barreling in the direction of home. Yodel flattened his ears and swung his rump around, balking. Mariko clung to his mane and decided whether or not to swing down. Arata was pushing himself to an upright position, groaning in pain as he yanked the arrow from his back. He soon realized that this just made him bleed more.

A second arrow shot itself directly into his shoulder, and Mariko couldn't help but scream this time. The first shot, she'd been to shocked to respond. Now, she swung from the bay's back and pulled off the saddle so quickly, she was inclined to believe that she'd ripped something. But the girth and all the straps were intact, just hurriedly unbuckled. The blunette desperately pressed the light saddle pad to both of Arata's wounds as best as she could.

"Leave me, Lady, I'm fine," Arata said through gritted teeth.

"You're everything except fine," Mariko replied incredulously.

"I'm used to it." His scars were an angry pink, his face red with the pain, breathing in short, quick gasps. Within moments, his lungs stilled to a quiet, regulated breathing, and he looked a bit pale. Besides that, he was up on his feet — slightly wobbly, but up all the same — and had a short sword drawn. Where he pulled it out from, Mariko couldn't imagine.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, still clinging to his shoulders with the saddle blanket. The poor green cloth embroidered with a Senju clan symbol was soaked through and dark red, creating a rusty sort of stain.

"Lady Princess, if you'll step aside, I must locate the—"

"Senju, watch out!"

A body tackled both of them to the ground, sending them scrabbling along the gravel, just in time. The moment they hit the ground, several arrows slewed past where their heads would have been. One landed relatively close to Mariko, and she could see that the flint was soaked in a purplish-blue liquid: poison. She didn't know if it was a lethal drug or a sleeping one, but all she knew was that Arata was clutching his shoulder, and his back was further scraped up by the rock.

"Uchiha, get the Lady away," Arata choked through a set jaw, knuckles white where they gripped his right shoulder.

Mariko wasn't sure what happened, but she didn't see the eyes of an Uchiha, but rather a man that Yodel crowded around, nervously nickering. As soon as she comprehended who was standing before him, bandages around his face falling loose to reveal eyelids fallen over sunken, eyeless sockets, she had been thrown onto the gelding's back roughly.

"Forgive me, Lady Princess," moaned Arata, struggling to his feet again. From a scroll he produced a deadly scimitar, its curved edge sharp and lethal. "Please go. Uchiha, accompany her."

"You forget that I cannot see, Senju." Izuna grabbed the scarred Senju's arm and steadied him. "I will send her with a summoned falcon, but I cannot guide her. I will stay."

"You are kinder than your brother," Arata said, a hard, small smile on his face. A bit of blood dribbled down his lips, and Mariko wondered how he wasn't dead from such a shot. She recalled an old Hurricane bedtime story her mother always told her, one that detailed the horrors of war. She told of a man shot in the back, and how he faded away on the battlefield. Then she described the cruelty of shooting someone in the stomach, for the death was agonizing and slow.

Arata threw the arrow from his shoulder to the ground, snapping it like a twig.

"Go, Lady Princess!" he yelled, smacking Yodel's rump. The bay kicked out, but then set off at a dead gallop, back to the Senju complex. Mariko folded herself down on the horse's back, holding tight. Bareback, she found that it was warm but also slippery, difficult to grip her legs around for she was connected to the horse's entire, moving being. Desperately, she hoped that by tucking herself to his neck and imagining herself a burr stuck to his mane, she would become a smaller target.

A fantastic bird of prey swept into her peripheral vision, its wingspan nearly her entire height. It followed her, slightly above, at a decent pace.

She hardly cleared the corner away from the trail, where arrows were still flying, when she saw a face. Glasses glinting and a startled expression as he disappeared round the alleyway, Kell.

Kell, with an arrow notched to his bow, dressed in dark, shinobi's clothing.

* * *

A blur of red and brown and blue. Red, because Mito pulled her from her horse and demanded to know what had happened. Brown, because that was the color of her hands, musty and stained with a dried blood that she tried assuring Mito was not her own. And blue, because the ocean blue metal and jingle of armor told her that a certain somebody had either returned early from his mission, or had not gone at all. It was about two in the afternoon, if she was still able to read the clock in her state of mind, so she supposed that if the bandits had been as simple of a job as he'd claimed, then perhaps he was finished.

Then, the Hokage was descending from his tower, the large falcon alighting on his arm. It talons clamped around his arm, almost menacingly, but then it bent its beak in semblance of a bow. Hashirama read the tag on the bird's leg with an expression of surprise.

He shouted something, and at least five shinobi set off in the direction Mariko had come from.

She had not noticed, but Mito had long since left her, and in the redhead's place, a solemn Senju with garnet eyes and cold hands.

* * *

Three perpetrators, rogue shinobi without any identifying hitai-ate, refusing to speak. All three were clad in the same black as she'd seen Kell in, and all three had accents, all from different areas. One, a fair-haired fellow, was distinctly eastern islander, while the second spoke with the quick clip of a River Country man. The third was the most baffling — his accent mirrored that of Kell's, and he was distinctly Tea Country in both his eyes and the set of his jaw. This, Mariko thought on her own, and no one made the connection. Everyone else noticed the accents and the lack of shinobi headgear.

When the straw-headed man from the east spoke, his amused, grainy laugh reminded Mariko terribly of someone she knew. Before Mito could ask any more scathingly accusatory questions, she blurted: "You're from Kirigakure."

"Well done, little princess," sneered the shinobi, shooting her a glare. His eyes were light blue, and his hair lacked color. It was so blonde, it was white, and an unhealthy hue of blue tinged just about every feature. His eyebrows were thin, just as pale as his hair, and he smirked a lot.

"You're Hozuki," she concluded. How she made this connection, she wasn't quite sure. Maybe it was the set of his cocky grin that reminded her of the Hozuki nobleman.

At this, his eyes widened in surprise, before he returned to his scowl of a smirk.

"Clever, aren't you? Too bad you've got people trying to kill you." He leaned in. "Let me tell you, it's the Raikage."

This was not believable at all, and from the looks of it, Arata wanted to slap the man across the face. Arata had had his fair share of beating up the three archers who had been caught — four more had gotten away, he replied guiltily — and Izuna had thrown them down with an impressive genjutsu without Sharingan eyes.

Sharingan, Mariko learned recently, was the Uchiha's famed Kekkei Genkai. Ocular jutsu, and probably the more powerful one.

"It was the Tsuchikage," claimed the one from the south, eyes wide in an attempt to display his lack of power in this situation. He played the part of the man coerced into this operation; he claimed not guilty.

This was a silly statement, because Hashirama easily described the Tsuchikage as a friendly older man with a quiet voice and a kind heart.

"It was some businessman from Taki," hissed the third. "He's got a frightful power. He said that if we don't get an Ice Kekkei Genkai, he'd steal our hearts." He tapped his chest. "Straight from our chests, he would rip them out."

Mito was inclined to believe none of them. Her main job, for the most part, was keeping an eye on Tobirama and Arata to gauge their reactions. Arata, angered, was quite the fearsome soldier. Simply recalling the image of the scarred Senju brandishing his gleaming sword was enough to remind Mariko that this was a family of war-ridden shinobi. Before the village, a recent thing, really, these were clans that were constantly at war on the open plains of the Fire Country. Another story popped into her mind.

She was four years old, and her mother had often entertained her with stories of the mainland. Often, she took recent news or happenings from years past and spun them into golden tales for her to listen to. They were so well told that all three of her siblings, even Ryo, would sit down and listen.

At the coast, a ghost boy who made dragons rise from the sea when his family's home had been set on fire.

"When did this happen, Momma?" Mariko had asked, a petite little girl in her mother's arms.

"Around the time before you were born," Queen Manami told her gently. "A couple months before you, actually."

She went on to describe this boy's family, a family capable of the most magical things. Never once did Manami label them as ninjutsu — she simply called it magic, the magic of legends. The ghost boy who danced with the waves had a brother who was one with the earth and could create a forest simply by thinking it. The forest grew arms and legs, the trees faces, and he swept the land with his mighty willow limbs.

And they fought with their magic, against a clan whose powers included hypnotics and fire. They burned the first family's home in rage and jealously, for a reason Manami never included, setting everything to blazes. Finally, when any stragglers came through, their fearsome illusory magic drove the victims insane.

"Are they evil, then?" Katsurou asked. He crossed his legs and rocked back and forth, looking like a ruffled blue puppy.

"You could say that," their mother answered with a smile.

"And the first family uses their magic to fight for the good side?"

"You could say that, too," agreed Manami.

"Mother, why don't you ever tell us if they're good or bad? You only tell us that it's something we could consider," Ryo suddenly put in. The queen smiled more widely then, reaching over to set a gentle hand on her oldest son's shoulder.

"That is because," she explained, "it is a story. It is a story from which you must learn, as are all good stories. There is always a theme to learn from."

"This theme is light and dark, then?" asked Ryouichi. Sumiko snorted something about Ryouichi being the smarty-pants of the household, and Katsurou agreed with a small giggle. Mariko, only engrossed in the story itself, didn't think of the implications behind the two warring families.

"It's whatever you wish to believe," Manami answered.

"Momma," whispered Mariko. "I think it's about magic."

Manami smiled. "That's right, too, Mari. There is no wrong answer."

And at that time, that was all it was — magic.

* * *

Dun dun dunnnn.

(I have a tendency to make things increasingly confusing, so tell me if anything looks...confusing. lol)

(Also, if you think I'm going to make something super exciting, then I'm sorry. I'm quite boring. =3= )


	8. Nightmares

Happy Birthday Tobirama!

Just because I just found out and looked on in the Naruto wikia with horror, a new chapter! Hopefully cutesy?

I don't know what happened. It was one of those moments where things just blubbehblubbehblubbb from my mind. Haha...top-of-the-head plots ftw!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto, but guys, it's Tobirama's birthday! *whoooo*

**Note: ***stares at story* 128 M. Word pages. *faints*

-revives-

Okay, lemme at'em. :'D

**Note 2: Guys, I drew more Tobirama and Mariko, just for fun. It's kind of bad, but it was five in the morning...**

_** equestrian-equine. deviantart. c/om/ art/Grumpy-Contest-Tobirama-and-Mariko-354809572**_

**Just take away the spaces...and the / between c and om.**

**NOTE 3: **Warning - I have included:

1) my destruction of Tobirama's backstory, bwahaha.

2) epic writing mood swings from something terrifying to something fluffy and to something terrifying again. =3=

3) PMS Mito. - but we all love Mito.

Etc. :D

(How did I write such a long one...? lol, I _did_ cut some out of ch. 7...)

* * *

**Chapter 8: Nightmares**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Do you remember the story of the ghost boy and the tree boy?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Look, Mari, I'm the ghost boy from the story!" A common day outside their rooms, by the waterfall where Mariko had fallen ages ago. She had been four when the incident occurred; coincidentally, a short period of time after her mother's magical story of the mainland. Perhaps she thought that she, too, could possess magic powers, and make the leap.

But she had not, and she now had a scar along her left shoulder blade, shaped somewhat like a bird in flight.

At the moment, Katsurou, fifteen and tall, was standing on the little pool. He let a snake of water glide around his arm, and then he floated it out for Mariko to see. It formed a cobra's head, and then a cobra's fangs, and Mariko stared at it, wide-eyed.

"See? I can do it, too."

Mariko laughed and played, never noticing that at some points in time, Katsurou had walked directly onto the pool and across to the other side. She was too delighted by the floating bunnies of water dancing before her eyes.

"I can make the wind blow, too."

It was air magic, to her, the magic of the sky that allowed Katsurou to bring a rush of cool breeze swirling her hair about.

"Look, Mari, I can make an ice crystal." Katsurou was all too happy to show her every single bit of "magic" he'd learned over the years, finally perfecting a moving ice sculpture. It flicked its icy tail and tossed its finely sculpted head, alive. But it was simply an ice sculpture, though one that caught Mariko's eye and didn't let go.

She wanted to ride the ice horse, to dance with the water and the breeze.

"I bet the ghost boy couldn't do this," Katsurou told her, making the waterfall itself bend to his will. The falls arched so that it thundered into the pool before them, and the water behind it quieted, with only subsiding tremors and ripples disturbing the surface.

"Do you remember the story of the rock people?" Mariko called out to her brother. This had been another popular story among the siblings. A mysterious breed of rock people who lived far, far away in the mainland. They burrowed among mountains and stones, sculpted mud plates and worked from rocky homes. They were short and squat and had funny eyes. At least, this was how it went in the story.

In the ghost boy story, the ghost boy was paler than the moon and his entire body was white. His brother was literally the color of a tree, with browned skin and green, leafy vines for hair. The fire clan was made of flickering images, like fairies and phantoms with hair made of real flame.

However, the appeal of the rock story was that when the rain flooded their low-lying land, they always found clever ways to drain their homes. And when the rain _people_ came to conquer them, because their area was one perfect to create an ocean, the rock people, squat and fierce, banded together and formed a mighty mountain. Now, with the tall range of snowy peaks in the way, the rain people could no longer flood the valleys.

"I remember," Katsurou replied. He was about to tell her something more, when a member of his guard stepped forward and touched his shoulder. The royal siblings, forever guarded by a series of soldiers until they turned eighteen. That is, unless they somehow proved to be unable to take care of themselves.

"Queen Manami calls you back to court," said the guard. He turned to Mariko. "Lady Mariko, you as well."

That had been the end of it, for afterwards, Mariko witnessed a repeat of an argument she'd heard three years ago. One that included Manami reduced to hysterics and the king repeating, for the first time after three years of not trying, that Katsurou was never to use ninjutsu.

The magic, Mariko found, was really ninjutsu. It was something she realized along the line, growing up, but had never really thought of. No longer four years old, she understood, vaguely the mechanics of chakra. It flowed, and was used. It was the "magic energy reserve". But she knew that Katsurou had been adept at the "magic" for a while, now. When she was six, she knew of ninjutsu. But she never thought that perhaps all the stories were related to ninjutsu. If her mother made the rock clan sound like a good people, why was it that she denied Katsurou the "magic" that they marveled at?

Was she afraid, perhaps, that they would turn out like the destructive fire people? Wispy phantoms that disappeared with the illusions of their own power?

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ There was once a boy named Kell. He was a shinobi, but not a shinobi. What is a shinobi?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Kell returned, bedraggled and harried. Mariko nearly leapt in fright at the sight of him, dressed in the same black as the captured archers and wielding the same, owl-feather fletched arrows.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he gasped raggedly to Hashirama, who held him firmly by the shoulders. "I couldn't catch them, they saw me."

"Did they recognize you?" asked the Hokage, frowning.

"No, but they saw me tailing them. I tried to be one of the captured shinobi, but—"

"Kell!" Etsuko bounded into the living room, face open with her outright horror. "What happened?!" She began blubbering over him with nonsense words, picking a kunai from his side that he'd completely failed to notice. "You rock-headed, bumbling idiot! Look what you did! You're injured all over and you're not even reacting!"  
Kell hobbled over to Tobirama and pressed a scroll into his hands.

"Your rogue nin," Kell said simply.

Puzzled, Mariko watched this exchange. What was this now? Tobirama's mission had something to do with her being attacked? And how did Hashirama know what Kell was doing? How was it that _everyone_ knew what was going on, but she still hadn't a clue why she was attacked?

"But you're sure they didn't recognize you," Hashirama repeated.

"I'm sure," Kell said, nodding. "If I'd been recognized, I would have been slaughtered."

"Wouldn't that be considered treason against their own nation?" asked Etsuko, applying a healing salve to any visible wounds. It seemed like the kunai hadn't gone too deep; Kell's thin, bamboo-woven vest was hardier than it looked. His fiancée clucked over him, but wasn't all that nervous anymore. Her hands glowed a peculiar blue-green, and had a warm aura that exuded calm into the room.

Mito noticed Mariko's wonder at the bright circle of chakra that was mystically sewing up the wound on Kell's arm.

"That's healing ninjutsu," Mito told her. "The Senju are quite adept at it, as are the Uzumaki."

Mariko was, indeed, curious about this, but she wanted to know what Etsuko meant by committing treason. Who was committing treason against who? What did Tobirama's bandits have to do with this?

"I thought you dealt with your bandits already," Mariko said flatly to Tobirama, who was studying his scroll. He promptly rolled it shut when she strode over to look at it, and kept it frustratingly out of her reach. Mariko stopped herself from pouting and jumping ridiculously to get the scroll.

"Different bandits."

He slipped out the door.

Mariko swept her gaze across everyone in the room and tried to decide if she was having a terribly out-of-order dream, in which something that should have happened before had not happened yet, and she was left devastatingly out of the loop.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Shouts at night. There is a fire, and the wood of the barn is crackling loudly. There is a terrible splinter, the scream of animals. Mariko jolts awake, but she is not awake. A tug at her gut wrenches her outside, somehow through the walls. She sees the barn burning, the stable door collapsing in on itself in the flames._

_ The scream of a horse. No, several horses. The first one out is a sturdy gelding that she has come to love. It is Yodel, and he is flying faster than she imagined he could fly. The second one out the door relieves her heart — Katrina, safe and free of fire, following the first horse's path. Mariko hardly has time to register why her horse would be here. She is in Konoha, and the barn is one in which she watched Tobirama stack hay in the loft one day. _

_ A third, fourth, and fifth horse. A sixth horse, this one a ghostly white mare. She doesn't realize it, but the white dancer carries the ghost boy, a boy with pale hair and seaweed for armor. He is grown, now. He is no longer a ghost boy, he is a ghost man. His eyes are sharp, and she realizes that they are nothing like the sea. Mariko had always imagined that he would have eyes like the ocean, deep blues and greens, shimmering like waves. But instead, they are like fire, they are the sunset on the sea's horizon, glowing ruby like the fire behind him._

_ There is a blue horse, then a green horse. She has no idea what she is seeing. There is a brown horse, colored like mud and squat as a stump. He is the color of the Hokage Mountain, a yellow rock. A rock horse._

_ There is a horse with bark for his coat, his tail made of leaves and his mane of moss. _

_ Then there is a red horse, but its red is flickering. She can see right through him. Atop him rides a fairy, a creature without a definite face. She sees arms and legs, and hair made of flame wisped from the top of the burning barn. But now, Mariko notices, the barn doesn't have a top. It has fallen in on itself, leaving nothing behind._

_ Etsuko is screaming. Why is she screaming?_

_ There is a hand in the rubble, charred and black. At first, Mariko thinks it might be Kell, because that would explain Etsuko's screaming. But no, it is not the Tea Country boy, for the tuft of unburned hair that is spared from the dying flames is of a strange hue. It is blue, the only thing definable of the charred face and body._

_ In horror, Mariko realizes who she is looking at._

_ Her eyes also seek out the figure crouching over the dead body. It is a wolf, coat like slate and silver, eyes bright and hard as an emerald. A wolf that moves like a man, on his hind legs, hunched in an animal style, prowling like a demon beast._

_ The wolf touches a claw to the blue hair of the Second Prince._

_ Katsurou disappears._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Mariko awoke so violently that she launched herself out of her bed and fell ungracefully to the floor with a thump. She cursed herself and her nightmares, for she always had the strangest ones. The clock read close to eleven; she slept in. Again, the blunette pondered angrily over her dream. Her dreams were always coagulations of the random things running through her mind. The nightmares were the worst because they were the most vivid.

Knuckles rapped on her door, and she shuffled to open it. She was surprised to find a solemn-faced boy staring at her, the one with the x-shaped scar on his chin.

"Toka sends this for you." He placed a paper in her hands and then left unobtrusively.

It was simply a request to see her later in the day, when she felt like it. Toka would be at the Hokage Tower, most likely.

Pulling on a light blouse and riding trousers, Mariko tucked herself into her usual riding boots and set off, despite veering away from the stables. She allowed herself a small glance, just to make sure it wasn't burnt down.

* * *

"Mariko," Toka said, upon her entrance into Hashirama's office. "I understand that Uchiha Izuna was at the scene of your attack?"

It sounded horribly like a crime scene investigation, the type of interrogating that occurred in one of those mystery novels that Ryouichi liked to read. Mariko remembered trying one out once, but it wasn't really her cup of tea.

"He was," the princess confirmed.

"And he helped you?"

"Yes."

"Did you see where he went?"

"No. He was helping Arata fight off the rogue nin."

"I see." Toka scribbled something down, as if it were extremely important. "Anything else?"

That seemed more like a question Mariko ought to be asking the pale Senju instead. She shook her head nonetheless. Toka looked as if she wanted to ask a few more questions, but a knock at the door interrupted her. Hashirama, glancing up from his paperwork, called for whoever it was to come in.

Three boys that Mariko should have known the names of appeared. She knew them now by "Team Toka", but could hardly recall their names.

"Danzo, close that, would you?" Toka gestured to the door, which swung ajar. The boy with the x-scar that had delivered Toka's message shut it quietly. So this was Danzo, thought Mariko.

"Torifu, Kagami, you haven't seen Uchiha Izuna lately, have you?" Hashirama asked. Torifu shrugged, mildly informing the Hokage that he had no relation to the Uchiha clan head's brother, and would never really get the chance to interact with him. Kagami, on the other hand, said that he hadn't seen Izuna around his clan quarters.

"That's strange," mused Toka.

"I've seen him."

Everyone turned to look at Danzo, who blinked owlishly.

"Where?" demanded Toka.

"In the strawberry fields to the north, sleeping."

This was such an odd answer that Toka blinked a few times at her student. Hashirama chuckled and supposed that this made some sort of sense. Izuna tended to get tired, and he also liked those herb and fruit filled fields up there.

* * *

The following two days were complete confusion. There was a strange thing going on with Izuna, while Sarutobi Sasuke repeatedly dropped in to mention something about Danzo, the quiet child. Hiruzen must have been in the kitchen next to Mito for a good six hours each day, for some reason — something about taking Biwako to dinner? — that was completely unrelated to everything else.

Meanwhile, Tobirama returned from the impromptu bandit mission. Kell recovered, though was covered in bandages, and Arata took to fiercely brushing each of his horses five times over. What's more, a messenger hawk came in saying that Aunt Tari's messenger bird had been found, but she and the two healers were nowhere to be seen. Upon hearing this, Kell fretted, and everyone began to argue pointlessly.

They heard nothing of Katsurou, and the three rogue nin weren't giving them much help either.

"I told you five times," insisted the straw-haired man, a cheeky young fellow, "being a Hozuki has _nothing_ to do with why I'm here."

"I told you, this guy promised to pay me," insisted the other one, still sticking to his story of a frightful, zombie-like man who stole people's hearts. "He's got loads and loads of money. You'd better watch out — he might take your Hokage's head and sell it for some good money."

Finally, the last one, the Tea Country man, nearly went mad with terror upon seeing Kell. This was the one instance that he cracked, while all other times, he was stoic and hard. He attempted to kneel before him in an image of subservience, whimpering something about a man threatening to take his aunt and uncle if he failed. He was in desperate need of money, in order to care for his little sister, because their parents were dead and only their aunt and uncle occasionally looked after them.

"My aunt and uncle are healers, Lord Kell," the man insisted. Under his ruffian looks and unshaven face, he was a young man, around Kell's age. "Lord Gen and Lady Mella," he breathed, still prostrated at Kell's feet. "They give me money, but I wasted it terribly in bad investments and bets and gambling, and now I—"

"You're the nephew of Lord Gen?"

"Yes, I am, sir."

Kell and Hashirama exchanged bewildered glances.

"Who paid you?"

"A man from Takigakure, a famous black market dealer. I met him on one of my…excursions at night. It was shortly after I lost my life savings, and he promised to get it back for me if I did this for him. And then I vowed to never dip into the black market again," the young man insisted.

Now his story lined up with the River man's. Mariko, sitting in the corner next to a tired Arata, deduced that some shady figure from the Hidden Falls was pulling the strings to this. But mainly, she was now concerned about Katsurou, because hadn't he gone to find them?

"What is your name?" asked Kell quietly. "And please lift your head and take a seat."

"My name is Odzalaigh, but my friends call me Odd," he sniffled miserably.

"How old are you, Odd?"

"I'm twenty this winter, sir." He was a pitiful boy, hardly a man. He was thin and gaunt and skinny, never having filled out properly it seemed. Odzalaigh, who looked like he was scrabbling for food in order to keep his sister alive. But he was also Odzalaigh, nephew of a lord. Shouldn't he have enough money?

"Tell us of your so-called _excursions_," Hashirama said. Toka whispered something harshly, recommending that they attack the child with a different method. Hashirama shook his head, denying Toka's emotionally-charged style of interrogation.

"I tried making money on the black market," Odd admitted. "I bid on closed cases filled with forbidden items like ancient scrolls and sealed jutsu, among other things. It all depended on luck; some days, I might get a few kunai with fake seals, and other days, I'd get a rare gem. Then I'd sell them off to make a profit."

"And then?"

"I splurged on a fancy looking box, and bet all my money on it." Odd sighed dejectedly. "It turned out to be nothing but a few rings that anyone can buy from the local jeweler. I still sold them, but I hardly got anything left."

"Anything particular about the person you sold it to?"

"Well, there were ten rings total, with little characters on the cheap gem. I'm pretty sure the guy was from Konoha, but I'm not sure. Besides that, I met the Taki guy the same night."

Hashirama took little note of the fact that someone from Konoha was participating in black market auction — some things in the dark could hardly be found, and almost never avoided — but instead focused on the Takigakure figure.

"And what was he like?"

"He's near your age, Hokage-sama, I'd suppose. He wears a mask and has dark eyes without the white around them." Odd paused. "He wears a scarf around his head, so I couldn't quite see him, but he's got olive skin and greenish eyes."

"And those were his most prominent features?"

"Yes, that I could really see, sir."

"Thank you, Odd. Kell will accompany you to your quarters."

Konoha had a jail, but it wasn't as dismal as the name sounded. Odd was offered a better room, though he was still being watched just as carefully as the other two. The Hozuki, in particular, liked playing mind games with his guards, so a few Uchiha watched him with baleful glares.

The River man strung a few badly tuned strings along his small guitar, plucking a sad song at night. It was then noticed that his playing was putting people to sleep, and Mito realized that his instrument was from the growing Sound Village to the north, with the power of manipulating the ears to the brain.

Mariko cringed at the thought of the man's only solace, his guitar, being taken away. Though she supposed it was for the best.

* * *

Not being allowed to go out on her own, now, and with Arata recovering from his deeper wounds, Mariko resigned to trotting around the ring with Yodel. She was constantly distracted, something that Yodel reminded her of by abruptly dropping from a trot to a lazy walk when she didn't remind him to keep going. Eventually, Mariko relented and let the gelding back to his field where he munched contentedly on grass.

"Hiruzen, what are you doing in the kitchen?" she asked the next day, bored out of her mind, yet completely worn out from trying to piece together too many things that she couldn't possibly connect. Kell was not trying to kill her, this she was sure of. It relieved her, and the Hokage's trust was a very powerful factor.

"I'm learning to cook," answered the boy simply.

"What about your training? And missions?"

"Oh, I go to those, still." He seemed bashful, as if he was withholding embarrassing baby pictures of someone. Sworn to secrecy, his lips were zipped, and he was in no position to reveal to her anything.

"What about your one mission a few days ago? The one with the rogue ninja bandits?" Mariko leaned over to see what he was cooking, and was surprised to find him mixing cake batter.

But Hiruzen was puzzled, his eyes confused.

"We never went on a mission with bandits," he told her. "I caught a stupid cat, but other than that, we haven't done much. We went with Team Toka, since Tobirama-sensei was out."

First, Mariko wanted to laugh in Tobirama's face and tell him that she _had _been right, that they only got silly D-rank missions in which their goal was to catch a cat. Then at the same time, she was horribly confused.

She sought out Tobirama, who was, peculiarly enough, taking a nap in his room.

* * *

Face down on his mattress, the white-haired Senju was completely knocked out. He didn't even sense her walk in, and she assumed him to be a light sleeper. He smelled like soap again — he had lovely shampoo, a corner of herself marveled — and was clad in a light blue polo and baggy, black trousers, a strange combination on him. Mariko then stepped away, because it was strange to be staring at him so closely as to be able to smell him. She realized how odd she was.

Tobirama mumbled something, and it sounded vaguely like "Whashoo do hair, shirt?"

She understood it to mean "What are you doing here, Shorty?" despite it sounding like he was doing something odd with his shirt while washing his hair…

"Looking for you," she answered plainly enough. "And also wondering why you told me that your _team_ was going on a C-rank mission to capture bandits."

"I did."

"_You_ did, but Hiruzen and the others didn't."

"Oh, them." He was still half-asleep, and didn't have any intention to get up and have a proper conversation with her. Leaning closer, Mariko checked to see if he spelled like alcohol again; he didn't.

"Get up."

"Mmph." Tobirama halfheartedly tossed a pillow at her, before burying his face into his covers. He was half in his blankets, and half out. One leg was completely tangled in the sheets, which came up in a bundle to his chest, where he hugged it to his face with both arms. The other leg was sprawled over the blankets rather comically, so that he was hugging his blankets and his pillows, face pressed into the mattress.

Mariko poked his calf; he gently used his heel to kick at her. The Senju underestimated his power, because Mariko rubbed her thigh indignantly where he'd struck her.

"Tell me where you went."

"Sorry, S-class info." She could hardly hear him because he was talking into the mattress, which was now his new best friend.

"You said it was C-class."

"Just kidding."

"You rock headed liar," she said angrily.

"You sound like Etsuko," he mumbled back, shoving her with his foot again. More gently this time, sliding her towards the edge of the bed. Mariko planted herself stubbornly by his side again, closer to his head so that he couldn't kick her anymore. "I didn't lie about everything," he continued. "I _did_ capture some bandits."

"What bandits?"

"The ones that were with your three archers downtown."

At this, Mariko was startled. Did that mean that Tobirama had caught all of her attackers? She asked him, but he shook his head.

"Different people. These are just the general henchmen." He sounded awake, but didn't look it, so she poked his ribs. He swatted her away with a pillow again.

"Why are you so tired?" The change of topic produced a rather relieved sigh — one that sounded like a horse blowing through its nose while it relaxed in its stall — from Tobirama, and he peeked at her from beneath his covers.

"They slipped me a sleeping drug without me noticing."

"Well that was stupid."

"It was. The side effects remain for three days."

"That was stupid, too."

"You're so kind, Lady Princess." He flopped his head back down into his covers again. When Mariko poked him a few more times, he turned to show her the grimace that was on his face. "Shorty, seriously."

"Seriously what?"

"Go hang out with Arata, or something."

"You _want_ me to go hang out with someone else? That's surprising." She made a move to leave, but didn't, especially when her quip didn't evoke any reaction from him. Disappointed, oddly, she sat back down and poked his ribs for what seemed like the tenth time. Still no reaction.

"Shorty, stop," was all he said.

Mariko, in a moment of clarity, remembered a hot day not too long ago. She slipped out the door and quickly went to the kitchen to retrieve something she needed. Hiruzen glanced over, and nearly burnt whatever he was making now. Despite being under the careful guidance of Mito, he made a myriad of mistakes. At least he was determined, though. What now, flan?

"What're you doing with the ice?" he asked, nearly burning himself with a torch. Mariko corrected herself: crème brûlée. A dessert that surfaced memories of her departure, and the kind southwestern townspeople of Hurricane who offered her a delicacy before she took her leave. Her pretty much permanent leave.

"Something," Mariko answered as evenly as she could, failing to hide the little smile that came to her lips. Mito's eyes lit up, and shot Mariko an enthusiastic grin. Mariko hurried back to Tobirama's room before her prank could melt in her hands.

Sumiko and her dashing attempts at mocking her guests came to mind. One time, she'd dunked some unfortunate foreign lord's pants in catnip, and the poor man could not, for all his worth, deflect the herd of barn and house cats that meandered his way. Sumiko held a terrible grudge at that lord in particular — perhaps it was due to his tendencies to leer inappropriately at both her, Mariko, and their younger female cousins.

"Shorty, I thought you left," he said.

"Does that mean you _wanted_ me to leave, or not?"

"I was hoping you left." He didn't look up at her, and spoke in the same, flatly tired manner as before. Perfect.

Mariko swiftly dumped the handful of ice cubes down the back of his shirt. She watched in delight as he seized up immediately, back snapping straight as a board. Tobirama cursed loudly and flipped over, grabbing the tail end of his shirt, his face an outraged scowl. He found the slippery ice cubes, and gripped one so hard in his hand that it cracked faster than it melted. To his dismay, this one place where he least expected ninjutsu, she used it. The ice cubes simply popped back up in her hand, she giggled as he struggled to keep her from pulling his shirt collar again.

"Shorty!" he exclaimed, almost frantically now. She somehow ended up dragging him by the shirt, almost choking him, and throwing the ice cubes down the back of his neck again. His hand whipped out and tried grabbing hers, but she carefully dodged around his splayed position on the bed and stuffed a pillow in his face. Muffled, he grunted and tried kicking his covers off, squirming with the ice in his shirt.

"Yes?" she asked innocently, allowing him to straighten himself. He scowled and flicked the remainder of an ice cube at her. "Ew, why'd you do that?"

"Why did _you_ dump ice cubes down my shirt?" he demanded. At least he was awake now. "I'm going to—"

She threatened to materialize a few more ice cubes by wiggling her fingers, as if she was wielding a magic wand that would whip up some ice to torture him with.

"Stop that," he hissed, grabbing her ankle. She yelped, then smacked him with that same pillow. His hair was a mess now, and he looked absolutely ridiculous, on tuft of hair flattened against his forehead, and right next to it, an entire portion sticking straight up at an absurd angle.

She laughed, and he dragged her closer, grabbing yet another pillow to smack back at her attack. A grown man pillow-fighting with a blue-haired girl looked silly enough, but then they both realized that they were practically on top of one another, trying to whack the other party silly with fluffy pillows.

He paused, and watched her, her body trapped beneath his torso. He failed to notice that she'd subtly freed her arm, and Mariko promptly slapped the pillow across his head, sending him spluttering with the covers.

"I have defeated the Water King!" she exclaimed quite excitedly, doing her best to roll him up in the covers. When she failed to shove him over, she wrapped the comforters around him in an attempt to bind the much larger man.

"More like you've made a Tobirama roll," he grumbled. She snorted at this, and stuffed a pillow into his face again. This time, without hands to push it away, he nearly suffocated beneath the puffy fabric until she pulled it away again. "You know what would be more appealing? A Shorty roll."

Still in the midst of her enthusiastic mini-victory dance, Mariko plopped down beside him.

"No," she answered simply.

"I could throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes," he said. "It would be funny."

"And then what, have Toka chase you with a knife?" she joked.

Tobirama grimaced at this.

"I'm awake, Shorty, what do you want?" Reduced to a squirming egg roll of a man, Tobirama stilled and waited for her to ask what she wanted to ask.

"Where did you go? What happened?"

"They're just henchmen, I told you. We're grilling them for info, but they hardly know a thing. They only helped transport black market goods, and only know of their destinations and not their employers."

"That's sketchy."

"It is," he agreed. "Let me out, will you? It's getting stuffy in here."

"No." Mariko, just to spite him, wrapped another layer — there seemed to be several — of quilts around him. "What else did you find? Anything about Katsurou? Aunt Tari?"

"No, they don't know anything besides what cargo they carry, which happened to include your archers."

"So you're telling me that there's more of those archers out there?"

Hesitantly: "Yes."

Mariko stood up abruptly, suddenly nervous all over again. She had inklings of fear trickling into a gaping hole inside her, and it was filling up rapidly. Confusion replaced the information that she'd just received, throwing her into a mess again. Who was the Takigakure man, and what was his motive? Hadn't the one archer said something about Ice Style? If he was after Mariko, he could easily also be after Katsurou or Sumiko or even Ryouichi. Maybe he was after her because she seemed the easiest target. But that didn't make sense either — she was surrounded by the world's strongest shinobi. Well, at the time of the attack, Arata had been taken completely by surprise, the poor guy; he was still beating himself over it. Even then, Mariko was sure that he was a man that surely no one wanted as an enemy.

And before her, the Water King.

And the powerful mistress of Uzushiogakure, Uzumaki Mito.

And the god of shinobi himself, Senju Hashirama, Hokage of Konohagakure.

She was safe, wasn't she? Mariko fisted her hands. She was always being protected.

"Shorty?" Tobirama's voice broke into her thoughts. "You okay?"

He's wiggled an arm out of his dinner roll situation, and had touched the back of her hand gently. She sat back down, unceremoniously bouncing the bed.

"I'm fine."

"Who's the rock headed liar now?"

She sighed and gently pulled the covers away from him, peeling away layer after layer of rolled up covers to release him. Unexpectedly, she resented his touch for once. She allowed him a hand on her shoulder, but when he came closer, she floated away. He didn't pursue.

"I miss my brother," she admitted, suddenly.

"I know."

"You don't, your brother is here," she replied miserably. "You wouldn't understand."

"I would."

She glared at him then, confused and pained. What if Katsurou was dead? And no one knew? She refused to believe this, for it was best to think positive. Mariko had always learned many political sides of things. Should Konoha go to war with some other nation, she knew that Hurricane had quite the mighty navy to back them up, despite being significantly weaker than the Fire Country for its lack of shinobi.

"I get lonely too, Shorty," he said softly. She let him touch her hair, a comforting movement. "I was lonely when I was a kid."

"Kids aren't lonely if they have siblings or friends."

"I had a brother, but no friends."

She glanced up at him.

"Why not?"

He went silent, almost brooding. After a few long moments, Mariko thought her question would remain unanswered, and settled into the comfortable crook of silence. Then: "People shunned me."

"They did?" A curious statement, coming from someone like Tobirama. He was accepted here, wasn't he? A bit grumpy, but still loved by his family, right?

"My own clan shunned me," he added, sensing her confusion, though this only baffled her more. "They called me a curse because I was born with this coloring."

It seemed he was referring to his albinism, the whiteness of his hair and the paleness of his skin, his red eyes. Mariko knew only a little, things like how such a light skinned person was liable to get sunburn, or other dark melanomas of the skin. Red-eyed people with vision problems, among other health issues.

Yet Tobirama was none of this, so she wondered what exactly he was.

"They didn't call me a rare genetic change," he said. "They called me a phantom, the cursed ghost boy that would bring dishonor, shame, and bad luck to the Senju."

_The ghost boy that dances with the waves._

_ "Water King"._

"They tried to, well…" he paused, and glanced at her. Mariko silently willed him to continue, delicately squeezing his hand because she knew that if she reacted too extremely, he'd shy away like a frightened animal, and never open up this to her again. It wasn't every day that Tobirama gave away his feelings. You could talk all day to him and know close to nothing of his true emotions and thoughts.

"What did they do?" she prompted.

"Some tried to kill me. Others tried to ward me away with knives and spears. My parents, of course, still supported me." He smiled fondly at a memory. "My brother was the best. When the hateful ones came at night and dragged me away, carved into my skin and poured searing red ink into my wounds, he saved me."

The three, red marks, angry triangular streaks along his cheeks and chin.

"One for the mind, one for the body, and one for the soul," he explained. "They tried to purify me. Traditionally, they could carve your face, your chest, and your hands or feet, but they decided that the quickest way to rid themselves of a cursed four-year-old was to just get his face."

Horrified and full of an aching heart for him, she held his hand. It was limp and cold. Surely, however, he must've seen the look on her face to know what she felt.

"Why?" she whispered in the middle of his speech.

"Around the time I was born, there were immense droughts and increasing wars. One of the clan leader's most trusted men betrayed him, and because his other advisor was driven to insanity by the guilt of not being able to save his friend from turning to the other side's cause, he committed suicide."

This was war, politics, family, memories, and pain.

"And you were blamed."

"My brother," he said, trying for a lighter tone, "was our clan's genius. No one really wanted to see me, the shadow. But I guess this hair was just too bright for them; I stood out."

It was a poor attempt at a joke, and she didn't smile. His own false one dropped from his tired features, and he stood. He went silent, and the silence was deafening. The expression he gave was one that meant he was done talking, perhaps, for eternity. As if he'd let slip too much.

He wasn't one for admitting his feelings, after all.

"My mother once told me of a story," Mariko began, "of a clan on the coast. The main character, we called him the ghost. Ghost boy."

He looked up.

"His magic was with the water, and he danced with the waves. He was made completely of white mist. His brother was literally a tree, we called him the tree boy. He had bark for skin and leaves for hair. Their clan was the strongest in the land, far stronger than the rock people or the people of the flame illusions.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about." She laughed, lightly. "These are all stories my mother made, most of them bedtime stories. Ryo told me that she based them off news from the mainland, but I didn't think that anything could be so crazy in the world. I know now, however, that she was actually telling us the truth. Just with a creative spin."

Tobirama waited to hear the importance of her little story.

"So, next time you remember that people shunned you," she said quietly, "and made you unhappy and called you the ghost boy, remember the silly story a blue-haired princess told you of a magical little boy who was whiter than the snow and the ghost of the mainland we always tried to look for during high tide, in hopes that he would find his way over to Hurricane."

There was a long pause, as he tried reading her face. Mariko hoped that she'd made somewhat of an impact; after all, she had just connected that the so-called ghost boy that her siblings had idolized, especially Katsurou who longed to learn Suiton ninjutsu, was before her eyes. He was not just a story, but a real person living in the Fire Country. Belonging to a clan of warriors and the younger brother of a tree-turned-human, or the other way around, and the former enemies of a fire-breathing clan of illusionists.

He pulled his hand away from hers, but smiled.

"Thank you, Shorty."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ I sent mail to both Sumi and Ryo. Neither of them have heard from Katsurou. It's been a week and a half since I was "attacked". Things happened far too quickly last week. First, Aunt Tari comes and goes. Within three days, Katsurou arrives. He stays for two nights, and on the third day, he leaves. On that third day, I am attacked. Or was it the day after? No, I'm quite sure it was that day. Yes, that's right. Now it's been more than a week, and it feels both like ages have passed since Katsurou was here, yet it also feels like it might have been yesterday._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

If one was to watch Arata, probably ten days after a serious injury, there would be no reason to believe that he'd been shot by an arrow in two places. He rode confidently, his hands steady on the mare's rein. The pretty white animal was more lithe and tall than Yodel, and she jumped with a deer-like grace. She turned on a dime and galloped with the lightness of an antelope.

Yodel, not to be outdone, mowed down the strawberry fields. He thundered down the rows and leapt over hedges with a determination unrivaled by the mare. He made up for his lack of finesse and fine breeding with sheer willpower, hooves pounding relentlessly against the hard earth. In a way, horses were like humans.

_Dear Momma, _Mariko thought. _People are determined to do things they cannot. Horses are too._

Though Yodel couldn't possibly make it over the next fence, he tried. His hooves scratched the top rail, but he somehow scrabbled over, leaving Mariko breathless and pretty much scared out of her boots.

After that, she praised the old bay and patted him fondly, lavishing him with too many carrots for his own good. A good rubdown was called for, and she spent over an hour brushing the sweaty crinkles from his coat out.

"Lady Princess, Kell is looking for you." Arata gestured out the door. "I'll finish for you."

She thanked him and stepped outside to find Kell nervously pacing back and forth across the path to the barn. He quickly motioned for to follow, and they huddled in a dark corner behind the barn.

"He said you would understand this," Kell said mysteriously, handing her a small package. "I'm awaiting a message, Lady, so I must be on my way. If you would, please tell me what it means."

He was gone, lanky figure striding nervously back to the Hokage Tower. Mariko opened the small package, an envelope with a strange bulge in its middle.

A lock of blue hair, tied over and over again with string until the string outweighed the hair. Scrawled on the inside of the cover, the roof of the envelope's paper mouth, were the words: _Find Sumi now._

And not just in any words. It was an old Hurricane passage, a script that they were required to learn for royal encoding, but unnecessary for world communication. It was a message written in cipher, to which Mariko tried three of the most obvious codes before finding the one that worked. The ciphers worked in that a certain word would become the code, and wherever a certain letter was repeated, that was where the alphabet began, overlapping with another letter to produce what looked like scrambled words. For example, if the code was EMERALD, then the second E would begin the alphabet. From then on, one would write the alphabet following E and recurring back to A until a complete cycle was made. Underneath, a regular alphabet was written in regular order, so that whatever letter atop it was what you wrote down as the coded message. In addition, Hurricane's old script made for an overly complicated code that was nearly impossible to crack without highly skilled code breakers familiar with old eastern languages.

Ryouichi had seven rotating codes that his royal network, along with any underground organizations, recognized. However, he also had one personal code that only his closest knew. He used "FOREVER" as his family code, simply because it served to trick whoever was trying to hack his code. One could choose the R, which appeared twice, but the E also came up more than once as well. Even within this, Ryouichi had three rotations. He would either use the F, the O, or the V, but never the repeating ones, just to throw off the cipher. His siblings and closest family had learned to easily swap through each rotation until something made sense.

Sumiko also used the royal code, but her personal one was "STIRRUP" for her love of horses. The R was obviously her cipher letter; she hadn't any need to be as complicated as Ryouichi, who was already a major role in Hurricane as a country.

Finally, Katsurou used "ARROW", for his archery skills. The R was also his letter of encoding, and from there Mariko read his quick message. There was something else scrawled beneath the first message, behind the lock of hair he'd cut off.

_Show Ryo —_

A word she couldn't read, even with the cipher. She tried rotating everyone else's code through it, but nothing turned into a legible piece of information. Mariko assumed that it meant only Ryouichi would be able to understand this one, which put her into a frustrated mood.

Besides that, something had gone amiss, and it was urgent that she tell Hashirama. Mariko ran to the Hokage Tower.

* * *

"We'll contact your sister," confirmed Hashirama. "Though I'm not quite sure what this is about. Is Katsurou is danger?"

"I don't know, he left a lock of hair."

"Is that significant in any way?" Hashirama reeled through a series of reasons why Katsurou might chop off his own hair. "Is it to prove something, perhaps? Does it symbolize something? It is another code?"

"No, none that I can think of. Maybe to validate the letter? Though no one else knows the code besides him…"

"You don't know that, though," sighed Hashirama. "In any case, we'll send word to the Hot Springs. Luckily, they're just on our northern border. By falcon, it should take less than a day, at most."

Again, Mariko was astonished at the speed of shinobi. No, not just shinobi, but animals trained to work alongside them. Perhaps these birds were enhanced with chakra running through their wings so that they might fly faster? It was definitely possible. Tobirama made a horse leap higher simply by channeling chakra to it through the reins.

It had taken her sixteen days to travel from Hurricane to Konoha. Mail to Hurricane took less than three, maybe even less than two days at top speed. The world shrunk in the mail department.

"And the last part?"

Mariko realized that she'd completely gone off on a tangent in her own mind, and now Hashirama was asking her something. She blinked a few times, a slow deliberate action, like a disorientated owl.

"What did he write to you, the last part?" He was referring to the end of the message.

"He said to show my oldest brother something, but I can't read the last part. I've tried every cipher."

Hashirama muttered something about foreign languages being particularly hard to crack, especially since they had little information on the topic in Konoha.

"No matter. We'll send word to your sister immediately, and then see from there. Kell gave this to you?" Hashirama stood. Mariko's eyes widened, remembering how Kell had come out of nowhere with the package. Where had he gotten it?

"Yes."

"Did he say where?"

Mariko shook her head.

"We'll go find him for that, too," Hashirama said. He glanced outside. The sun was about to dip below the horizon; Mariko had not realized how long she'd been out this afternoon with Arata. The morning she'd accidentally wasted away by sleeping in again, plagued by another hideously vivid dream. This time, it had been of faceless people screaming at her, trying to hold her down and carve into her face, vials of red ink at hand. But then she'd floated away, and instead, Tobirama was in her place, struggling. He opened his mouth to scream, she covered her ears — but then she woke up.

"I can't imagine where he would get it," she murmured, thinking of Kell again. "Perhaps Etsuko would know?"

"We'll check with everyone. Hurry back to the house, my dear, Mito should have din ready." Hashirama checked something in his drawer, then his eyes went comically wide. "Of all things to forget, I forget to buy the milk. Mito will have my hide."

At this, Mariko burst out in laughter, because it was the most random thing she'd ever heard, and especially with the tension of the situation that she couldn't quite understand, she was relieved to see that Hashirama worried too. Even if it was a trivial thing.

"I'm serious," claimed the Hokage, fretting now. "She's probably waiting for me to get home just to see the look on my face when I remember."

"Does she need it?"

"She needed it two hours ago!" Hashirama clutched his head, and then he, too, began to laugh. "I'll just apologize and hopefully laugh it off."

"What was she going to make?" What in the world could be so urgent that the Hokage himself was worrying his hair off about? A super recipe with milk as its secret ingredient?

"Not Mito, Hiruzen. He wanted to make something again," Hashirama said, sighing pleasantly.

"Why has he been cooking, he hasn't told me," Mariko replied.

"Oh, he's learning to cook because he likes a girl," Hashirama laughed. "I think it's quite charming of him! Tobirama should learn from his own student." A wink.

"I agree, that's very nice of him," answered Mariko. She grinned at Hashirama's comment. "Tobirama doesn't really like to move at times, so I've taken to dumping ice cubes down his shirt."

Hashirama guffawed then, and the two burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. Mariko laughed partly because her memory was amusing, but more because of the humorous way that Hashirama was gripping his desk as he tried to catch his breath, trying to brush away tears of laughter from his eyes.

"What a wakeup call, I would've liked to see that," the Hokage exclaimed between laughs. In the end, their conversation ended with another mischievous plan to tease Tobirama with, before Mariko headed back to the Senju complex at the brink of dusk.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ Note to self: Tobirama and Tenzou get along smashingly when Tobirama is not tired. Otherwise, either 1) fear for Tobirama's face, or 2) make sure Tobirama doesn't drown the cat and regret it later._

_ Also, I found out yesterday that Hiruzen was trying to make a milk chocolate creamy rice pudding, so he needed milk for part of his recipe. It was quite good – he managed to make it the next morning. Mito was angry about her loss of milk, though. I think she overreacted. Mood swing?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Mariko laughed, a tension released off her chest, when Tobirama began to battle with the cat. Tenzou chased a loose thread from Tobirama's blue shirt, and was trying to hang from it unsuccessfully. The tabby took to chewing the ends of the garment, while Tobirama repeatedly shoved the poor cat away.

"Hey Shorty, if you wouldn't mind, I was trying to see if your mail came in," snapped the Senju contemptuously. He eventually managed to dump the cat in Mariko's arms, but the cat was still hanging onto his shirt, so Mariko just followed Tobirama wherever he went, simply for Tenzou to keep playing with the shirt. She found it adorable.

Tobirama stopped by his room, and stared sourly at her. He glanced down at his shirt, which Tenzou was clawing at excitedly, and then back at her. Just to irk her, or rather, make her yelp in surprise, he pulled the shirt over his head and threw it at her.

"Your cat can have it, now. Happy?"

But she'd ducked her face behind the cat, who was happily playing with the shirt that swung back and forth from his paws.

Tobirama smirked, and then disappeared beyond another door. Just in time, too, because Mito blasted through the door like an ox on a rampage, so hard that Mariko feared for the door's safety. Luckily, it was still intact when she barged through.

"Where's that uncouth boy, get him out here!" she snapped.

"Bathroom?" Mariko gestured towards the door as best she could, one arm full of wriggling cat and the other with his shirt.

"Is that his shirt? Why do you have his shirt?" Mito had this funny expression plastered to her face, as if she was deciding why it was so odd to see the blunette holding her brother-in-law's clothing. Maybe the princess had been digging through the Senju's drawers in an oddly creepy manner. Highly unlikely, though.

"Um, he threw it at me?" offered the blue-topped girl.

"Tobirama, get out here, now!"

Mariko guessed that was part of the reason he'd disappeared into the bathroom; he'd sensed Mito barreling down the hall at light speed.

"Did you get Shorty's mail?" he called.

"I didn't get any mail, you rock head! Get out here!" Planting her hands on her hips, Mito glared at the door to the bathroom. If she glared hard enough, maybe it would burn to ashes.

"No thanks."

"You don't throw things at young ladies, Tobi," she snarled. "What are you doing, hiding in there?"

"Pretty much," supplied Mariko, to which she could imagine Tobirama scowling at her for. Tenzou pushed away from her and scrambled out into the hall, disappearing. He knew when a human was going to blow up, and his animal instincts — instincts that humans should have as well, Mariko would say — told him to get as far from Mito as possible.

"I'll break this wall," threatened Mito. Mariko didn't doubt the woman's ability to do so.

When Tobirama peered out, it was the meek gaze of a ten-year-old boy who knew he'd done something wrong. Mito grabbed his arm and hauled him out, banging his shoulder against the swinging door.

"Ow," Tobirama said unnecessarily.

"Hurry up, Tobirama. Why are you shirtless—hey!"

When the shirtless man tried dodging the redhead's fury, a well aimed kick nearly maimed him. He bumped into Mariko, who leapt back in fright, and then tumbled onto Tobirama's bed. He glanced at her, a somewhat baffled expression on his mostly stoic features.

"Toka will have your ass," barked the Uzumaki.

"Toka will have none my ass," deadpanned Tobirama with as much of a straight face he could manage. First, Mito tried whacking him upside the head. When he deftly dodged that, she went to knee him in his lower regions, but he danced out of the way as well.

"I have no time to waste, Tobirama," she hissed.

This time, Tobirama wisely kept his mouth shut, and waited to hear her next words.

"I want to know why Madara is claiming you stole his horses, and why Izuna was in a horse's stall this morning. If you won't tell me now, tell me later. If you won't tell me later, tell Hashi. If you won't tell anyone, even Mariko, then Toka _will_ have your ass, and you'll be running to Iwa by sundown."

Vicious.

The only word that Mariko could think of was _vicious_.

When Mito slammed away and stormed down the hall, Tobirama rubbed the back of his head.

"Any ideas, Shorty?" He was obviously referring to why in the world the Uchiha were causing such a ruckus. Her being the horse girl should have helped solve this mystery, but she was too busy getting an eyeful of finely toned man. She blinked a few times, flushed, and then threw a pillow at him, inexplicably. Nonplussed, he caught the pillow and watched her carefully. That didn't really help, because now she was drawn to his perfectly sculpted arms and chest and…everything.

He muttered something about Mito being on her "time of the month", and then something else about warning Hashirama, and then telling Arata to go hide in a hole. Afterwards, he just waited to see her reaction.

She threw another pillow.

"Rocks, Shorty, what are you doing?!" He chucked the pillows back at her. One hit her face with a ceremonious _pomf_ noise, and then fell to the ground. Mariko realized the predicament – he couldn't put on a shirt because she was _holding_ it. This, for some reason, seemed like the most epic epiphany she had ever had, so instead of throwing the pillow back, she grandly whipped the shirt at him. Problem solved.

Not really.

When the tall Senju just stared at the shirt flung over his head without moving, she wanted to scream and tell him to put it on. But that would look ridiculous and insane, so she just kept staring, because that was the easiest thing to do.

It wasn't that she'd never seen a male torso – she _did_ have two older brothers, after all – it was just that she hadn't seen any male torso that didn't belong to a family member, simply put. How Sumiko would have laughed at her.

"Appreciate the human figure," she once said. "It's natural."

Then Mariko made a disgusted face at her sister, in a way that meant she firmly believed boys to be contagious, human-shaped pathogens that might infect her through her eyes.

"Suit yourself, little sis," said Sumiko, shrugging. "You'll see what I mean one day."

Sumiko was adventurous. Mariko was not. Katsurou was adventurous. And Ryouichi…he was somewhere in the middle.

Always the most reserved of the siblings, the most modest, and the most shy, Mariko was one took polar ends of the stress bar. She either shut up completely, closed herself in a box, or she squealed and threw pillows at shirtless men. It seemed to be the latter at the moment, and Tobirama threatened to start laughing at her.

"Have I shown you enough, yet?" he called over flatly, dodging a third pillow. He suddenly loved the fact that his bed was adorned with a bunch of decorative pillows that he, for some reason, never failed to put back into place. Supposedly, he was a tidy person, but he didn't seem that way based on looks alone.

"Put the shirt on," she hissed.

"Let me think about it." He pondered magnanimously over his shirt, just to mock her. Then, he pretended to have an epic realization, one similar to her own, and he flung the shirt back at her. "Nope."

"W-we should go find out why Izuna's in the barn," she stuttered quickly, standing on his bed now. She wielded another pillow, which she whacked him with mercilessly, but failed to keep him from leaping up on the mattress alongside her. Nearly losing her balance, Mariko stumbled backwards while Tobirama measured carefully if his head would hit the ceiling or not. Deeming it safe to stand upright, he smirked down at her.

"Izuna's got enough patience to last the entire Uchiha clan for another generation," Tobirama answered. "I think he can wait."

"Patience is decided by whether or not someone is waiting," Mariko replied. "Izuna's not waiting."

"So?" Tobirama inched closer, in a stance that made him look like he was sword fighting with her. Mariko shoved a bigger pillow at his chest just so that she wouldn't have to look at it.

"Mito's waiting," Mariko pointed out.

"So?" he repeated. "Innocent girl, shall I tickle you?"

This statement was so bizarre that she took a moment just to stare at him, silently. She supposed that it would be best to dodge whatever happened next, because he'd bluntly told her he was about to tickle her. Then again, she got the strangest notion to try and tickle him back into her head. As if the world's greatest Suiton user would be ticklish, that was just absurd.

But she poked him in the stomach, and he recoiled, eyes wide.

"I'll tickle _you_," she replied, dead serious.

Somehow, the two managed a Hokage-level tickle-pillow-fight battle that threw them down on the bed and had them throwing more pillows. Outside, one would wonder what in the world they were doing in there, because it sounded nothing like bedroom activities nor normal human conversation. They never knew that Koharu and Homura stopped outside the door, and then turned right back around. Perhaps Tobirama noticed, but if he knew, he never let on, because he was too occupied trying to pin Mariko to the bed.

Exhausted, Mariko gave up on poking him, because apparently that was his new pet peeve. They collapsed among a fortress of pillows and ruffled bed linens, Tobirama sprawled so that he took up most of the space. She tried shoving him aside once or twice, but found again that poking his chest was not the same as placing her hands on him and physically trying to move him. But he was warm – hardly sweating, like she was, embarrassingly – and once tried to hold her hand there, closing his eyes and seeming to take a nap.

When it looked like he dozed off, she slipped her hand away and slapped his arm. He peered at her, obviously awake.

"Izuna, in the barn?" she reminded him.

"I'm not in the mood to see an Uchiha in the barn," he replied, tugging the corner of her shirt. Mariko looked down, and was appalled to see that he'd slipped her loose tee off her shoulder and was inching his hand up her waist. She kicked his shin. "Shorty, do you have to try to injure me all the time?" he snapped. "I'm going to have bruises, everywhere."

"Aren't you used to it?" she clipped easily. "You and your shinobi skills."

"Good shinobi don't get injured."

Scoffing at this, she sat up and pulled her shirt back on straight. His hand was still on her hip, so she leaned over and poked his bicep, jabbing him with a fingernail. He scowled.

"Stop poking me," he said darkly.

"Nope."

She didn't admit that she had wanted to touch the strong muscle of his arm, even if it meant poking him and annoying him to no end. She'd elbowed him once before, in the gut, hard enough to know that his abdomen was rock solid. Compared to Ryouichi, who was rather skinny and was never very athletic, the god of shinobi's younger brother had a godly shinobi body. Mariko recalled Katsurou teasing their older brother for his limp, thin arms and slim torso. Ryouichi had responded by building a good amount of muscle, but never anything as athletically built as Katsurou.

Mariko thought that in terms of well-sculpted muscle, Tobirama won the competition.

She would never tell him, though.

"Seriously, stop poking me." His voice was nearly a growl, now. Scowling, he leaned over her, placing both hands on either side of her head and forcing her to lie down again. "I _will_ tickle you."

But she went quiet, trying to decide what to do in this situation. Warmth radiated from his skin, and it was quite comfortable.

Then, she poked him in the chest, a small grin trying to hide itself struggling on her face.

"Shorty." His eyes narrowed. "What did I just tell you?"

"To poke you," she answered. Her face must've looked ridiculous, the way she was trying to suppress her imminent smile.

"You'll regret this, princess."

Down the hall, Koharu and Homura exchanged wary glances at the squeal that came from their sensei's room.

* * *

Yodel was a friendly, sociable animal. He always hung his head over the stall door in anticipation of anyone coming through the aisle. He had a large, fine head that he bobbed up and down whenever someone came near him. Sometimes, it looked like he was nodding.

However, today, a fine almost-noontime period before lunch, his rump was to the door and he was intrigued by something in the back of the stall. There was a person, dark-haired and calm, sitting peacefully on a pile of blankets with the straw to cushion his back. He was lean and quite fit, though his face was a little gaunt. He had a straight nose and a mild smile, a genuine one that one could see through the dimples on his cheeks and the way his head turned up slightly.

Usually, people watch the eyes.

But this man lacked eyes completely, a factor he made for with his quiet, charming charisma. He was not loud and violent like his brother, but rather the silent, strong coyote in the background.

"He seems to know I'm blind," Izuna said softly upon their entrance. "See that? He watches for me."

It actually did seem like the horse was acting as Izuna's eyes, for his bay body swung around to peer out into the aisle. He recognized Mariko as his rider and Tobirama as the tall man who smelled like a lake and had treats sometimes, but didn't pay them much mind. The gelding snuffled into Izuna's hands fondly, dribbling horse drool on his former owner. Izuna casually petted the horse's noses, ignoring the carrot-drool that dripped onto his lap.

"He's a lovely horse," agreed Mariko.

"My brother's outside, if you haven't noticed," Izuna replied lightly. He rubbed the horse's ears. "He's avoiding Mito, though."

"Everyone avoids Mito around this time," muttered Tobirama, folding his arms. He turned to Mariko. "Shorty, if _you_ get mood swings to, I'll seriously move to Iwagakure."

Mariko made a face at this.

"What brings you here, Uchiha?" Tobirama continued.

"I was visiting my horse. I told my brother I missed my horse, mentioned that Yodel here was happy with the Senju, and he got it into his head that the Senju stole my horse."

"Typical," scoffed Tobirama. "I'll go see what's up. Shorty, make sure Saru doesn't burn down the kitchen, and keep an eye on this Uchiha for me."

"That was a lovely pun," deadpanned Mariko. Eyes and Uchihas, especially Izuna, were quite the funny pair.

"I haven't any idea what you mean," he replied lightly, exiting the barn. When he was gone, Izuna stood up and moved around his horse. Yodel followed, nosing the man excitedly. He seemed to be asking if they were going to a ride, which Izuna sadly declined.

"I could still ride him, if I really wanted to," he said softly. "He'd guide me anywhere."

"He would," Mariko agreed.

"He likes you." This was said in a slightly different tone of voice, one that Mariko couldn't discern from serious or sad. She assumed he was talking about the horse.

"Yodel? Yes, he's very friendly, I like him too."

"Lady Princess, I was talking about Tobirama."

Silently, she regarded the Uchiha, whose insight and ability to see what he could not were astonishing. He had given his own _eyes_ to his brother, yet was completely happy without them. Did he ever feel as if he lost something? Mariko felt like she was lost simply without her horse. Putting her white pastels away felt like peeling a layer of home from her skin, a layer of family and culture. She donned Konoha's casual attire and put away the layered and folded dresses from Hurricane. She had eyed Katsurou carefully, for once noticing how oddly the ochre patted around his temples made him stand out.

And here was Uchiha Izuna, content without his sight. Content because he learned to adapt to every situation his life threw at him.

Perhaps that was the ability of shinobi – to adapt.

But then, perhaps, regular humans should do so as well.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ Her hands shovel desperately through the ashes. She finds a hand, but it disintegrates upon her touch. It's not Katsurou; she can see the face. But it's a face that doesn't have eyes, and the lips are dry and pale, his hair dark. She thinks it's Izuna, because who else could it be? But she peels back another fallen board, her strength a product of her dreams, and she sees the face. It is horridly familiar, this face, with its two crisscrossing scars over the forehead and down the bridge of his nose. Eyeless and oddly lacking in color, it is Arata._

_ She screams._

_ The scene changes, and there is a woman brushing her hair. A soft voice, singing a Hurricane lullaby about trees made of emerald. At first, it seems like her mother is there, braiding her hair into long, winding rivers of overlapping blue, but it is Sumiko, hands delicately running down her back._

_ But Sumiko falls silent, her eyes trapped in the distance. Mariko turns to ask her what is wrong, what has she seen, why is she suddenly so still?_

_ "Flip it all, child, do you know what you've done?!" her sister suddenly screams at her. "Flip it all, flip it all, flip it—"_

_ A hand unexpectedly clamps around Sumiko's throat, effectively cutting off the words of Queen Manami screeching from her lips. This is not a person Mariko knows. She backs away, frightened._

_ A dark-skinned man, toned like an old olive, with hard eyes and dark red sclera. The most defining thing about him — his horrid eyes, unnaturally bright green, the whites of his eyes stained a bloody crimson-black. He wears a mask, under which he seems to be grinning horribly. His hitai-ate is pulled from his pocket, and he wraps it around Sumiko's neck slowly. He allows Mariko to see the piece of metal engraved with his nationality._

_ She recalls the name of the peculiar, jagged lines. She has memorized so many nations and their symbols, from the unique swirl of Konoha to the hourglass figure of the Sand. _

_ He knows she's recognized him, and he tightens the band around Sumiko's neck. There is a deafening crunch and Sumiko falls limp; the hitai-ate clatters to the ground, bloody._

_ Mariko must have been screaming, but she couldn't hear herself, and the corners of her vision were blurred with what must have been tears._

_ She is left staring that the plate of metal, engraved with the symbol of Takigakure._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"You've been having bad dreams?" Mito asked patiently, when Mariko came stumbling to her door at night, disturbing both the Uzumaki and her husband. She hadn't the will to go look for Tobirama, because she wasn't sure she wanted to tell him, so she sought the closest woman. Mito, compassionate and warm, forever a welcoming embrace, was her answer.

Mariko nodded, sipping a cup of warm tea in the kitchen.

"What kind? Do you see people you know?"

She nodded again, and when Mito asked her to describe them, she shook her head.

"Mariko, I can't help you if you don't tell me. Think of me as the funny therapist man who asks people how their day is."

At this, Mariko offered a wan smile, and then described her worst two dreams. She'd had several recurring ones, and this last one was new. Most of the time, the barn burned down, alternating from the one in Konoha to the one by Emerald Palace. Every time, Tobirama rode out on a white mare, followed by a faceless fire-fairy — each time taking a semblance to an Uchiha, more and more — and finally, the wolf creature bending over Katsurou before it all vanished.

"It seems you're jumbling a lot of things that go through your mind," Mito said quietly. "Perhaps you just need to take a relaxing break during the day, and stop worrying about this recent business. Don't think of it as a big deal. Think of Konoha as the largest shinobi nation, which it is, completely engulfing your problem and resolving it. That's what we do."

Mariko took a deep, shuddering breath, and then told Mito of last night's dream. Mito responded by repeating the same advice.

"Take a break for a few days, then see how you feel."

Mariko tried hard to relax, but after Mito padded back to her room and left Mariko in her own, she couldn't help but feel a chill up her spine. She desperately wanted to hear back from Sumiko and Ryouichi, and most of all, Katsurou. She knew who she had seen, and it was definitely the man that Odzalaigh had described. The blunette found the urge to find the meek Tea Country boy, a child who happened to be twenty years of age and struggling.

But she stayed in bed, and for the next three days, spent most her days at the barn, just to make sure it didn't burn down.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ I remember you used to give me a honey-based remedy that would rid me of bad dreams. I'm not sure if it actually worked, or if it was just all in my head, and my own imagination cured by nightmares. Do you think Ryo would remember what exactly you did?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Close your eyes and take a sip." Manami held a small mug to her daughter's lips. Mariko drank it, tasting a sweet tang on her tongue and a glob of honey sliding down her throat. "Now spin in a circle."

Five years old and forever obeying her mother's words, no matter how ludicrous they sounded, Mariko spun. When she faced her mother again, the queen pinched her cheeks and told her to take another sip.

"Now count to ten, and then breath out slowly. As you do so, say this in your head: _Demons, demons, don't come my way. The moon shall chase the wolf away._"

And so Mariko thought it, imagining little, ugly demons fleeing from her mind and the moon descending to blow a wolf monster out of her head.

Manami tucked the Second Princess to bed, humming a familiar lullaby.

"Sleep well, my child. May the stars crown you with the emeralds, and the sea wash upon a herd of sapphire horses. In your dreams," Manami whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the little girl's forehead. Mariko smiled and wrapped her short arms around the woman's neck, breathing in the familiar scent of rain and freshly baked bread. It was something she always liked, especially when Manami was gone and the only older woman who cared for her was Aunt Tari, who smelled similarly due to the shared love of baking between sisters.

Mariko fell asleep, released from her nightmares.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Aunt Tari,_

_ I wonder where you are._

_ I wonder where everyone is._

_ Perhaps Ryo will answer me._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The fourth day after her horrid nightmare — after a few nights of, thankfully, dreamless nights, despite her restless tossing and turning — Kell was pacing back and forth across the path again. He didn't explain why, but Mariko came out to talk to him anyway. He glanced repeatedly in the direction of the Hokage Tower, and then admitted that he wanted to talk to Odd again, but they were forbidden contact with the three archers until Konoha's Torture and Interrogation department finished with them.

Mariko thought the name overly gruesome.

Out of the blue, through the clear morning sky, a commotion rang loudly through the air. There were shouts and the clattering of many, many horse's hooves. Yodel, intrigued, lifted his head and pulled his rope taught, ignoring the chance to graze. Arata came out on his red-chestnut colt, which was filling out into a fine young horse, and followed their gazes.

Several Senju clan members peered out from their homes, and a number of shinobi formed a condensed crowd just outside the gates near the town. Someone ran from the road from the Hokage Tower.

"What happened?" asked a Senju. The townsman announced that some foreign governor or ruler of some sort had made an unannounced arrival in Konoha, and was now making a big commotion about it.

"What's the big deal? Is he here to beg to the Hokage of something?" asked the Senju.

"I don't know, but he's on horseback and the crowd is huge. It's like he's calling for attention on purpose. I wonder…" The townsman put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Ah, let me correct myself. It's a woman."

"Is she here to declare that she's claiming some poor man as her own?" joked the Senju, then promptly shut up when he noticed Mariko and the rest of them gathered behind him. Mariko ignored him and his jab at people who couldn't decide their marital fate for themselves.

"My Lady, my Lady!" called a squire, galumphing down the street on horseback. "Oh dear, I'm lost."

"Who are you looking for? Is it the entourage at the Hokage Tower?" asked the townsman.

"Yes, indeed, it is this way?" asked the squat man on horseback, fidgeting with his reins. The horse tossed its head. "Thank you very much," he said, before jarring his heels into the poor animal's sides and cantering briskly to the Hokage Tower.

And came cantering back just as briskly.

"May I ask, is Senju Tobirama here?" His voice was nasally and small, and he constantly huffed nervously. "My Lady is inquiring."

"He's—" the Senju turned, glanced around. "—not here at the moment. We'll get him for you."

He motioned, and someone, probably Etsuko, jogged back to the main house.

"In the meantime, my Lady is also looking for, um, Senju Hashirama?"

"He'd be at the Hokage Tower," Kell answered simply enough. The squire looked annoyed, as if he wanted to be in five different places at once but, obviously, he could not.

A second horseman trotted down the road. He wore a dark, navy-blue uniform with a stiff black collar. His boots were shined till they reflected the sun in a magnificent gleam, and he wore his lieutenant's hat jauntily on his head. A small bar identified him as a lieutenant of the coast guard, but whose coast guard, it was difficult to discern.

"Squire."

"Lieutenant, we're currently searching for Senju To—"

"Squire, please show some respect." The lieutenant swiftly dismounted, and motioned for the shorter man to do the same. Baffled, the squire dismounted, proving himself to be shorter and squatter and far more portly than he seemed on horseback.

"My Lady is requesting—"

"Lady Princess." The soldier bowed his head and kneeled. Everyone turned to see who he was paying his respects to, and the subject of attention stepped forward.

"Lieutenant of the Coast Guard," she addressed. "You may lift your head."

He stood and saluted, before gracefully mounting once more. Mariko always liked the fact that Hurricane's coast guard was mounted, even though they dealt with matters by the ocean, before the navy took over. Then again, the navy somehow also employed horses, for some obscure, abstract reasons. They didn't use horses all the time, but anyone working in service for Hurricane was adept in horsemanship, whether he (or she, for women were also capable soldiers) knew how to ride beforehand, or knew absolutely nothing of horses.

Everyone gaped at Mariko, then at the lieutenant, then at Mariko again. Tobirama arrived at a light jog, and stopped, breathing lightly.

"I hear I am called for?" he asked flatly.

"Sir," the lieutenant says.

"My Lady requests your presence," snorted the squire, who had scrambled to get back on his horse, which was, thankfully, a smaller one so that he didn't have to find a mounting block.

"Your lady?"

Mariko had a good idea of who was causing a commotion, now. The dramatic entrance was quite characteristic of her, actually.

"Yes, please come quickly." The squire rode off, inexplicably brief and rather strange. The townsman and the one Senju he was conversing with were still staring at Mariko.

"Lady Princess, my horse may be of service to you, if you wish it." The lieutenant prepared to dismount.

"Remain mounted, lieutenant. I'm fine on my own." That was because a glance back at Arata sent him to snatch up Yodel's lead rope. The bay gelding had returned to his pleased chewing, yanking up tufts of grass and grinding the blades slowly. He looked quite happy to be the center of attention, as Arata boosted Mariko onto his bare back. Riding without a saddle and solely guiding the horse with a single lead rope to the nylon halter, Mariko nodded the lieutenant, whose stoic demeanor broke for a moment.

Tobirama touched her knee, meaning to mount up behind her, but his eyes widened when she grinned and suddenly legged Yodel forward. The bay launched himself into a springy canter, blowing through his nose, and headed towards the Hokage Tower. Mariko heard Tobirama swear. Then, with practiced ease, he was suddenly next to her, leaping along the rooftops, a graceful shinobi running up and down the walls.

The lieutenant, startled yet amused, galloped after her. The squire, a little slow to comprehend the situation and absorb it all, frantically slapped at his horse's sides and rode after them.

When Mariko came thundering into the plaza before the Hokage Tower, the crowd broke with alarmed exclamations, and the figure in the center of the crowd turned to look at her.

Face painted white and adorned with colors more vibrant than a rainbow, lips painted into a bright red smile, a blue-haired woman, gold hoops dangling from her ears.

Sumiko.

* * *

Just curious, has anyone caught anything throughout all the chapters that they'd like to say so far?

I drop hints...-ish.

Like, remember Haku and Zabuza? Haku, Ice Style, blah-de-blah, something in the first chapter...?

There is one man that should obviously be obvious (coughHidan'sbuddycough)

PLUS

Kell is based off an adorable Bird Country filler character.

But really, when is Naruto going to have time to visit all those filler characters he promises to visit? As _phoenixyfriend_ said to me: "In another filler...of course."

I also threw nonsense Tobirama minus shirt in there, probably for _wisdom-jewel_.

Run, children, run. XD

Hurricane, if you're wondering, pulls an Uzushiogakure and disappears, far into the future, leaving YOU to wonder where all the blue-haired people went...dun dun dunnnnn.


	9. Wolf

Wow, I'm seriously surprising myself with how fast I type... =3=

That, and tell me if anything doesn't make sense...likes, dislikes, comments?

**Note: **I _believe _that updates will be far slower now, because my sport season is starting and since I'm the varsity no. 1 blah blah other things I must do, it'll be intense. Unless I have miraculous Naruto-troll-worthy time management skill improvements, then these will come out via probably study hall period, or something of the like.

I won't disappear, though, I promise!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto, but mop!Hashi has appeared! That chapter was both epic and adorable. Hashi, what are you wearing, I love it. XD

* * *

**Chapter 9: ****Wolf**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ The lights dim and she prepares herself. Mariko can see the girl on stage, lean and beautiful her arms outstretched. The music begins, and Sumiko dances._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Grand entrances, the kind where the door swings open with an epic clashing against the walls, and the room stills. All eyes focused on her.

Sumiko was bold, she was striking. Her blue hair swept back from her face and cascaded in straight tresses down her back. Her ears were lined with gold and sparkling jewels, twinkling emerald and sapphire lying along her neck and adorning her wrists. Her traditional dresses were sometimes sliced apart and sewn again how she liked them. She layered the skirts and made them shorter —how daringly she showed her ankles and maybe her knees, as well — and mostly ending in disputes with her parents.

"Fly, my bird!" she exclaimed, as a bright yellow canary fluttered from her hand and carried confetti across the room. Streamers attached to the bird's legs brushed the heads of the guests, and the expression on the king's face was dark. "Welcome to Hurricane, people!"

She struck a pose, then strutted to her seat, stalking in five-inch heels that were absurdly difficult to walk in. Where she got the shoes, no one really knew. Rumor had it that a sneaky royal from the Sea Country had sent them to her in secret, but no one could confirm such an idea.

The bird flew back to her hand. She sat, beside her amused seventeen-year-old brother who was trying to enjoy one of his last few dinners before some poor navy entourage retrieved him to ship him off to the Frost. The youngest sibling, however, watched Sumiko with appalled eyes and a bewildered gape. Especially when the streamers attached to the bird nearly blinded a man holding a gigantic bowl of soup, and nearly threatened to spill the entire thing.

"Sumiko." The queen's voice was soft yet serious. "See me after dinner."

None of the siblings knew what happened after that, but from the look on Sumiko's face, she'd been scolded. Five-inch heels were _not_ suitable for a girl of fifteen years, and neither was the crazy contraption of fabrics she called a dress.

But Sumiko was not fazed.

"I'm a daughter of the revolution," she claimed, to which Katsurou snorted. "Of the _fashion_ revolution," she clarified, rolling her eyes.

"What next, painting your face completely red with black and orange polka dots?" suggested Ryouichi, lifting his face from a novel.

"I don't _destroy_, Ryo, I create." She swirled her innovative dress. "I wouldn't change the pastels, but I altered the dress, see?"

The paneled layers of a traditional dress cut and sewn so that they flattered each other in flower-like layers. One could definitely see that Sumiko had an eye for fashion and talent for creativity.

"You gave that Wave Country guy a heart attack," Katsurou chortled, running a hand through his messy blue hair. "That bird nearly took out his eye."

"Did not," replied Sumiko.

"What did Mother have to say to you?" asked Ryouichi, closing his book quietly, marking the page with a red ribbon.

"She said something about presenting myself properly." Sumiko waved it off, obviously not caring much for the "proper presentation of a young lady". By her standards, what she did was perfectly fine, of course. If she wanted to be eccentric, then so be it.

"Let's just hope Mari here doesn't turn out like you," laughed Katsurou, ruffling the youngest sister's head. Mariko made a face, and Katsurou laughed. "See, this one's smart, right here."

"And what if I take Mari and turn her into a mini-me?" suggested Sumiko. "I could easily start her now. The path to women's independence in the fashion of Hurricane! A statement by the Second Princess Aokami!"

Sumiko swept her arm emphatically away from her, pouring emotion into her odd little sweep of the younger girl across the room.

"I'd rather eat a salt block," Mariko replied flatly. At this, even Ryouichi had to smile, and Katsurou burst out laughing.

"_Denied_!" he exclaimed, mocking his first sister. Sumiko glared.

"You'll see. Wait till Mari's my age — we'll be in a world of trouble then." She was joking, of course, but the look that crossed Katsurou's face was suddenly dark, and Ryouichi simply appeared sad. Sad because he was destined to a life in training to be king, and he knew very well that by the time Mariko was fifteen, their middle siblings would have long since been married off.

And she'd be alone, no one to braid her hair or take her riding, with only the ghost of an older brother working in the higher offices of the palace.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "I hate this fanfare."_

_ "I like it."_

_ "That's because you're little. You get tired of these things, you know."_

_ "I like it because it means Katsurou's coming home."_

_ "I guess there's that, too."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"My Lady!" cried the squire, horribly confused and bewildered. "I have brought to you—"

The poor man was always being interrupted, or at least, beaten to the point, because both blue-haired girls had thrown themselves off their horses to run at one another and embrace. Just as she had with Katsurou, Mariko dissolved into homesick tears, even though Sumiko came from a place completely different from Hurricane.

"Silly sis, I wore the pastels just for you, and here you are without them!" Sumiko's pastels had been partially rubbed off, due to their clash of a hug.

"I haven't painted my face in a while," admitted Mariko, still clinging to her older sister.

"Stop crying, you stirrup foot," Sumiko tried to scold, but she too had tears in her eyes. The fact that she'd called her "stirrup foot", something she hadn't even said for years, made Mariko hug her harder.

Somehow, they made it back into the Hokage Tower without giving the poor squire a panic attack or causing too much more commotion, though the lieutenant from Hurricane and two of his soldiers watched on, quite amused.

"Welcome to Konoha," at least three people said at once.

Greetings and introductions were thrown rapidly across the room, for besides Hashirama, there must've been ten other of Konoha's top shinobi in the room, including Sarutobi Sasuke. Mariko felt like she recognized people from around town, but couldn't place a name to anyone.

"I'm sorry, I must've interrupted," said Sumiko.

"No, not at all, Lady Princess," said Mito courteously. "We were finishing up here."

"Lady Hyuuga, if you would please?" Hashirama beckoned a woman forward. This woman had the strangest eyes Mariko had ever seen — pale, a slight tinge of lavender, large, and without pupils. Her hair was long and black, a straight curtain that fell down nearly to her waist. She wore a bandanna-like hitai-ate and white robes that cinched with armored belts. Mariko remembered now. She must be a part of the prestigious Hyuuga, as Hashirama had called her, a clan she vaguely associated with prestige. Mariko made a mental note that though she may be adept at Hurricane history along with most social issues, she was not familiar with Konoha's internals.

"Of course, Hokage-sama. I'll get the report back as soon as possible." She, and most of the shinobi left, but Sasuke remained to talk to Toka.

"He has been quite enthusiastic lately," Toka was saying.

"I'm relieved, the poor boy," replied Sasuke. It was implied that they were talking about Danzo again. "I'm glad. I can't check on him all the time, so thank you for letting me know."

"Of course," replied Toka. Sarutobi Sasuke took his leave, and then there were only five people in the room: Hashirama, Mito, Toka, Mariko, and the recently arrived Sumiko.

"I apologize for the earlier crowdedness," said Hashirama.

"That's perfectly fine," chirped Sumiko, smiling. "I made a big scene outside, so I apologize for the ruckus I made in your village."

Hashirama laughed at this, sparkling eyes a bit relieved at the way Sumiko was so casual. He must've been tired of formalities, lately.

"May I see the note?" requested the First Princess. Hashirama pulled it from a safe, and handed it to her. The envelope was slightly crinkled, but otherwise, the code was still readable, and the lock of hair firmly tucked inside. Mariko watched — she could see the wheels turning in Sumiko's head — as her sister rotated through several ciphers.

"It just says to see me," she murmured. "And what is this? Mari, did you see this?"

"I did, but I don't get it. Maybe Ryo would." Mariko shrugged. She suddenly found herself wondering where here white-haired tagalong had gone. Perhaps he'd gotten lost in the crowd, or maybe just disinterested. Mariko decided that the latter wasn't very plausible.

"Did you send anything to Ryo?"

"We have sent letters to both Hurricane and the Frost Country," Mito informed her. "We haven't any word from Prince Ryouichi, however."

"Strange. He should be on top of things." Sumiko paused. "Then again, letters take _forever _to get to his office nowadays."

There was a knock at the door, and the Hyuuga woman was back. She had, beside her, a large man who was accompanied by a humongous dog. Two bright red triangles, long like fangs, were tattooed to either side of the man's face, and his dog was big and white and intimidating. The man's hair was a dull brown, but his eyes were sharp and his teeth sharper. The dog had floppy ears underlined with brown, making him look more friendly than his owner, but he was big enough to tackle a grown man with ease.

"Inuzuka," greeted Hashirama.

"Hokage-sama, the secondary tracking team is ready."

Sumiko curiously peered at the dog, which obediently sat at the Hokage's desk, and lolled its tongue in and out. Mito petted its head.

"Here it is." Hashirama offered the dog the slip of hair.

"Will they be able to track it? Hasn't it been weeks?" asked Sumiko. Mariko was also confused as to why they were starting this now. Katsurou's sent would have been much fresher the day she'd received the envelope.

"Excuse me, Lady, but this is the _secondary_ team," corrected the big Inuzuka. The name rang a bell, and Mariko realized that she'd heard it more than once back in Hurricane. The Hozuki nobleman had included the Inuzuka as one of his guesses to Mito's marriage, and Mariko herself had yelled at Ryouichi, demanding why she couldn't just marry a simple dog-lover.

Now, she found herself staring at this burly man and his frighteningly large dog that was probably bigger than her. The dog, however, was quite friendly, nuzzling his wet nose into her palm. She petted him also.

"A first team was sent out immediately," continued the man.

"I'm sorry, I'm quite impatient," admitted Sumiko. Her little sister wasn't sure what good this apology did, but kept listening anyway. "I came as soon as I got the letter, and I sent another one, but I guess it didn't reach."

"You sent another one?" asked Hashirama, eyes suddenly sharp.

"Yes, I did. Why?"

"That's strange, all mail is supposed to get through."

"A mistake, perhaps?" The doubt in Sumiko's voice was evident enough to let them all know she didn't believe this point.

"Lady Hyuuga, if you would contact the shinobi at the nearest Mail and Trade station, please. Also, please dispatch a team with one Hyuuga, one Aburame, and one Inuzuka for me. You know the drill."

"Yes, Hokage-sama." The Hyuuga disappeared out the door, a flash of shiny ebony hair. Mariko, confused, asked Hashirama what this was about the mail stations.

"All mail going in and out passes some of our small shinobi-stationed forts and holdings, so I'm having a team investigate the closest one to look for clues," Hashirama explained.

"This is becoming complicated," sighed Sumiko. "What is with Katsurou and getting into trouble?"

Katsurou had always had a penchant for messy situations. One time, he'd disguised himself as a commoner, dying his hair a dark brown and painting natural-looking freckles onto his face, just to see what a normal man's nightlife was like. He hung out in a bar and then in a social club for the entire night, lingering till the next daylight, until someone knocked his hat off — a silly, flimsy excuse for a disguise — and his blue hair was exposed.

"He always gets back out," Mariko reminded her sister.

"Him and his stupid ninjutsu," Sumiko spat under her breath. Then she glanced up, warily. No one had taken offense at this statement, so she just sighed again.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," Mito offered.

"I can't stay long — I promised to return quickly. But thank you, I will."

"I'll escort you to our clan's home," Mito said, striding up to clasp Sumiko's arm. She gestured to Toka and mouthed something. The slim, pale-faced woman had been writing the whole time, but now she slipped her notebook into one of Hashirama's drawers and followed.

The door slammed open.

The moment the doorknob clashed harshly against the wall, Mariko watched Hashirama's eyes widen. In a split second, he'd leapt onto his desk and crossed it, knocking over all the contents on top in his haste. His arms were around Mito and Toka as he slammed them to the ground, face first.

At the same time, the figure who'd burst through the door had tackled the two blunettes, and Mariko felt a warm arm around her neck and a familiar flash of white hair. A loud, universal thump as every single person hit the floor.

Right before they hit the ground, there was an earsplitting crash, an explosion through the glass. Mariko squeezed her eyes shut at the light; some kind of bomb. She hardly saw the sea of arrows that came flying through the window, before everything turned dark.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "This is a kunai."_

_ "Looks dangerous."_

_ "Of course it is, it's a shinobi weapon! I'm improving my aim."_

_ "Be careful, Katsurou!"_

_ "Chill, Sumi, I'm just showing Mari my awesome aim."_

_ "What if you flung it the wrong way?!"_

_ "Well, at least it doesn't have a paper bomb attached to it."_

_ "That makes no difference! Let's go, Mari. It's time for our lessons, anyway."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Mariko thought that she'd passed out, but her vision was black simply because it was very dark in the room. She reached a hand out and found her fingers roaming along a wooden wall, one that couldn't possibly have been there before. There was tense breathing, and there was still an arm around her waist. She recognized his smell, because he always smelled like he'd just showered, mixed in with a forest's pinecones and the crispness of the air before and after a storm, with both the tension before and the soothing smoothness afterwards. His hand were cold and gripping one of hers, hard.

"Ow," she said quietly.

"Mari? You okay?" asked Sumiko. "Who the hell are you?!" she spat.

"Your future brother-in-law," replied Tobirama, somehow dodging a slap in the dark. Sumiko clicked her tongue, and Mariko could almost feel her glaring. Tobirama loosened his grip on her hand, but didn't let go, and she heard his back thump against the wooden wall.

"Hash. No one can see in here."

"Wait, Tobi. They're still outside."

"I took one out with the river."

"I can tell. I got two more." The oddest conversation ensued, in which the two men sat quietly inside the wooden enclosure and continued detailing which men they'd defeated, and where, without moving a muscle.

"Shush, brother, you won't outdo anyone here," Tobirama said flatly. Hashirama, who would usually either sigh or retort something ridiculous, ignored his younger brother.

"Toka, make a circle by the old shoemaker's shop, please," he beckoned. Toka silently complied, and Mariko wondered what in the world she was doing. "A medium level genjutsu will do."

Genjutsu. Mariko sorted through her mind, because most of the things she knew were of the Wave Country's famous chocolate or of a man rising the ranks of Sea Country military. Random things that had nothing to do with ninjutsu, until she realized the type of shinobi practice was being employed. One of ninjutsu, two was taijutsu, and the third would be genjutsu. Physical chakra manipulation and hand-to-hand combat aside, genjutsu was what she imagined to be the "magic of illusions". The illusionist fairies from the ghost boy story.

Toka, Mariko deduced, was a genjutsu user.

"I've got one of them," Toka announced. "I thought there were only four."

"Well, now there's seven more," said Tobirama. "Three are scattered."

"Tobirama, check the main gate."

"I found four more," Tobirama answered.

"So we have eleven total, including the four that we've caught." Hashirama stood, and the tent of wood began to open at the middle, panels pulling back like movable screens. Mariko saw now that they were in a makeshift dome, one made at an impossible speed, for it had manifested itself between them and the arrows in less than a second.

"Bomb seal," Toka announced, picking up a kunai that had been thrown to the far side of the room. Mito, still crouched at Hashirama's feet, exchanged shocked glances with the two blue-haired princesses. "Twenty-seven arrows total."

"They must've been terrible shots," muttered Tobirama, pushing himself to his feet and pulling Mariko up alongside himself. As Mariko dusted off her shirt and riding trousers, Tobirama offered polite hand to Sumiko and helped her stand up.

Ongoing shouts and panicked yelling were heard from the outside.

"Hokage-sama!" someone hollered. "Fire!"

Just as Sumiko accepted Tobirama's hand and stood, a masked man dove into the doorway, a flaming torch in his hand and a kunai bomb seal for an igniter in the other. He was almost successful in blowing up Sumiko's face, but his plan had one gigantic fault: the king of Suiton was right in front of him.

At point-blank range, a torrent of water materialized out of thin air and quite nearly drowned the man, soaking his flaming stick and pushing the kunai to the floor. The water was alive, a creature that engulfed the man's hands and shoulders and head mercilessly, a misshapen sea creature with a liquid maw.

"Tobirama—"

"Silence, he hasn't passed out yet."

Hashirama silently brooded, for he believed this to be an unnecessary cruelty. The man collapsed at their feet, Sumiko trying her hardest not to leap backwards, though her face was pale even under her pastels.

The floating bubble of water recoiled in on itself, and the air sucked back into nothing. Mariko's one maid and the soldier she fancied had been right: there was a shinobi in Konoha that could produce water from absolutely nothing.

It turned out that the one who'd yelled from outside was Sarutobi Sasuke, who was in the midst of clutching Hiruzen and Danzo to his chest to prevent the two from brashly running inside.

"Sasuke, there's four archers to your direct south," Toka called down. "And one to the northeast of the Hokage Tower," she instructed. "Gather a few jounin and take care of them for us."

"Right away," called the Sarutobi, herding the two children away. A frantic woman, face creased in worry, wrapped her arms around Danzo's shoulders and led him away. Hiruzen followed his father's lead, glancing warily back at the Hokage Tower.

"We've five in our custody," Mito said, counting calmly off her fingers. "And six rogues."

"And three in our cells," added Toka.

"Fourteen total archers," concluded Hashirama. "Lady Sumiko, are you all right?" he asked, face creased into worry. "That was frightening…"

"I'm…okay," said Sumiko, rattled. She was a tough girl, and solidified her temporarily jumbled mind for the moment. "Shinobi live, well, _thrilling_ lives, to say the least."

"We sure do," agreed Hashirama, offering a sympathetic smile. "Let's get cleaned up, here."

Magnificent arms of wood wrapped around the larger pieces of debris and glass, reaching carefully out the gaping hole in the wall to set them carefully on the ground. Sumiko and Mariko watched in awe. Tobirama, with a few pools of mobile water, somehow absorbed the smaller portions and shards too small to pick up, the miniscule shattered pieces that could prove to be dangerous if left alone.

Sumiko was entranced; she grabbed Mariko's sleeve.

"It's the ghost boy story, Mari, remember? The ghost boy and the tree boy. Mother told us a real story," she whispered in awe. Tobirama seemed to hear this, but he didn't say a word, only subtly glanced at Mariko.

"Did you know," Mariko told her sister, "that the Momma didn't name the ghost boy? He was already a ghost boy to begin with."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ I wish you were here to tell us stories again._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"You're _doomed_!" cackled the light-haired Kiri nin. "He's got _both of you_ here! You're definitely screwed now!"

Tobirama cracked the man across the face, earning a loud exclamation from both the man and from Hashirama.

"I'll remove you from this interrogation if you keep—"

"Silence, Hashirama. I won't let this man be rude. To anyone."

"Tobirama—"

Tobirama held up a hand, obviously not listening. The blonde cackled something about the Hokage being powerless over his little brother, to which Tobirama slapped him across the face the other way. The man angrily spat out some phlegm and a trickle of blood that had run down his nose and the back of his throat.

"Senju's out to break my nose," he rasped, laughing throatily. He then leered rather inappropriately at Mito, who then stepped up and hit him so hard that his nose was most likely broken after that.

"Rocks, you two!" Hashirama exclaimed exasperatedly.

"Konoha's violent, ain't it?" hooted the man.

Sumiko, who had been observing the exchange for some time, suddenly spoke.

"You're Hozuki, aren't you?" she demanded.

Incredulously, Mito said: "How are you two coming up with this? I've spoken to Hozuki clan members plenty of times, yet I never thought that this man might be Hozuki!"

"It's his facial structure, something like that," Mariko attempted to explain.

"Both of you princesses, I hope he doesn't show you any mercy," hissed the blonde man. Mariko grimaced, cringing at the thought of her dream.

It was true, the man's face resembled that of a Hozuki. The prominent ridge of his brows, which were so light they disappeared with the pigment of his skin, and the flat grin that pressed his cheeks out unpleasantly. The small nose and the almost-white hair made him all the more characteristic of a particular branch of the clan. The Hozuki nobleman resembled him in that they frowned and leered the same way, but their hair color was completely different. There were Hozuki people with blue eyes, but then there were also Hozuki members with odd, purple eyes. The members with white-gray hair most commonly had purple eyes, so this man was an interesting mix.

To this, Mito could relate. She had green eyes and red hair, while there were others of the Uzumaki with the same red hair, but a greater number with gray eyes.

"Moving on," Tobirama said flatly. He was getting impatient with this Kiri nin, and was ready to leave. Mariko decided it would be a good time to leave as well. Most of the people in the room followed, leaving Toka and Hashirama to grill more information for probably the twentieth time out of the Hozuki.

Exiting the room, Mariko, Sumiko, and Tobirama happened to meander towards the barn. Mariko wasn't surprised they didn't have guards surrounding them, or something of that nature.

"Tell me, Tobirama, how did you know those arrows were coming?" asked Sumiko. She caught sight of Yodel, and murmured, "Mari, isn't that the horse you rode? He's very handsome."

"Lady Princess, I'm a shinobi," he answered simply. Sumiko made a face at him, and linked arms with Mariko.

"Ryo married you to a snarky one," she whispered, deliberately loud.

"My brother married me to a cheeky one," he returned easily.

As Sumiko opened her mouth to say something sharp, Arata came jogging from the barn, worriedly requesting information on what had happened.

"I caught one of the archers by the river," he said. "But I hardly saw a thing."  
Tobirama explained to him the gist of the most recent attack, sometimes using a few shinobi terms that were lost on Mariko and her sister. Arata nodded, silently taking it all in. The two men began a debate over one thing or the other, something about the type of arrow, or maybe it was the kunai. Mariko silently led her sister into the stables, and introduced her to most of the horses.

Sumiko admired the white mare, very appreciative of the animal's dished face, as if it was delicately carved and sculpted.

"She's got a lovely, strong neck," Sumiko commented, stroking the crest of the horse's mane. The horse lowered her head and nuzzled the woman.

"There's two young chestnuts, and one adorable palomino I think you'd like. He's got blue eyes." Mariko took her sister on a tour of the stables. Sumiko, who had had her own beautiful palomino in Hurricane, was fond of the one that Mariko showed her. The First Princess also marveled over a gorgeous little dun paint that swished his tail and flattened his ears at her.

"This barn is so colorful," she said cheerily. Mariko agreed. They watched a mare and foal bump noses, before flicking their ears at the humans curiously.

"I'm glad I still have horses wherever I go," said Mariko.

"Tell me of this man of yours," Sumiko prompted, changing the topic. "He's not too hard on the eyes, hmm?"

Those words made her cringe, but Mariko did her best not to show Sumiko a single shred of emotion. The satisfaction of being able to make her little sister squirm would be too much for Sumiko.

"He's all right," she answered nonchalantly. Sumiko made eyes at this.

"Oh really?" the older blunette prompted, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Mariko lightly shoved her older sister, who laughed at her.

"Someone's talking about me," Tobirama announced, sauntering over with thumbs hooked casually in his belt. Sumiko shot him a mocking glare.

"Mr. Suave is back," she said, pretending to be condescending. A hand whisked around Mariko's shoulders, and Sumiko curled her sister to her chest. "I'm going to steal your princess, Mr. Suave."

Tobirama arched his brows, acknowledging that he was being somewhat insulted.

"It's all right, she'll come back to me eventually." Tobirama unhooked his thumbs and crossed his arms, still that defiantly flat expression on his features. Sumiko paused then, and seemed to have the same idea as Mariko – he looked achingly similar to Katsurou, despite being a tad shorter and slightly better built. Broad shoulders and an amused smirk, arms folded haughtily.

_If I could only say the same for Katsurou_, was what Mariko read in her sister's eyes. Nonetheless, she kept up the pointless banter.

"You've met Katsurou, so you should've acquainted yourself with his attitude," Sumiko said. "I'll have you know that I'm ten times sassier than he is."

"I can tell," Tobirama deadpanned.

"Tell me, boy, what you think of my sister."

If Sumiko had dubbed Tobirama a knight, he would've been rather self-satisfied. At the calling of him as a "boy", his face broke slightly with a small, incredulous gape. Sumiko planted her hands on her hips and stared him down.

"Shorty, you mean?"

Mariko glared.

"Shorty's not the brightest, but not the dullest either."

"Hey!" Mariko pouted, now. Sumiko caught her arm before she could stomp over to Tobirama and glare at him a little closer (despite knowing that it would do little good for her). The older Aokami considered the Senju, analyzing his smug stance and the small quirk to his lips upon seeing Mariko's reaction.

"You're not bad, ghost boy," she deemed. "I've decided that I like you."

"An honor," Tobirama rolled back sarcastically.

"Of course it is." Sumiko let go of Mariko, who was still now – though still glaring at the Senju – and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Now, ghost boy, promise me something."

"Sure thing, ghost lady."

Sumiko glared, but continued: "Take care of my sister, or…"

She stalked up to Tobirama, and being taller than Mariko, she had some good height on him. Perhaps it was simply the height of her ridiculous heels that she'd changed into, unpractical but loved, that gave her the boost she needed to stare meaningfully into Tobirama's eyes and tell him something privately.

Sumiko mouthed something, a whisper to Tobirama, inaudible to Mariko. His expression never moved, but his hand twitched, and later, a smirk played itself along his lips.

"If you order it, I shall, Lady Ghost." He swept himself into a graceful bow, a mocking feint of subservience. Sumiko, in a flash of humor, smacked the back of his head. He rubbed his hair, which was a white nest anyway.

"Of course you will, Mr. Suave. Now shoo." She waved him away, and the Senju threw an amused glance over his shoulder before sauntering away.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Hiruzen,_

_ Your chocolate was sculpted very beautifully, but its taste was disastrous. Maybe you can ask Sumi to help you. She's supposed to be good at that type of thing._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"I've got nothing to say to you," hissed one of the men. He was the one that had valiantly plunged into the room with a burning torch and an explosive tag, but had been brutally overpowered by Tobirama and simple pool of water.

"I know you don't," replied Hashirama tiredly. "Toka, do you mind switching places with me?"

"Of course, cousin." Toka took a seat across from the man, in a tiny room adjacent to Konoha's prison, and the same place they'd been doing all their questioning – the Torture and Interrogation Force. "Go get yourself a cup of hot chocolate, or something. Or go skip some stones."

"Toka, please don't ever tell me to skip stones," Hashirama answered. "You know that if I do, I'll run into someone that I'd rather not deal with right now."

"I meant it literally, Hashirama." Toka rolled her eyes. "As in, go sit by the lake, talk to your wife, and relax by throwing some pebbles in the water."

"Tobirama will spit them back out at me."

Toka, exasperated, shoved her cousin out the door.

"I've got nothing to say to you, either," the man spat. Instantly, Toka had shoved a piece of failed chocolate in his mouth, and it was as he was choking on it that Mariko realized – from the side, unobtrusively – that there was a gigantic paper seal on it. It read: _explosive_.

Horrified, she jabbed her elbow into Tobirama's side. He scowled and snapped something about her poking him again. Instead, she tugged his arm and asked why there was a paper bomb, of all things, on the chocolate.

"Because Saru's chocolate deserves to die," Tobirama offered. She elbowed him harder, but didn't receive even the smallest of grunts. Stupid hard abs.

"You're terrible."

"Thanks, Shorty. I take that as a compliment. Hey, you want to see an embarrassing photo of Hash?"

Mariko ignored him, simply because she was intrigued by what Toka was doing. At the same time, she was horrified, and feared for the man's life, but then again, she supposed this was the way of shinobi.

"The name of this place is terrible," she said in a low voice.

"That's how it goes, though." Tobirama lazily put himself in a chair to the other side of her, twirling a loose piece of thread that Tenzou had been pulling on earlier. If he wasn't careful, the cat would gnaw his armor to pieces one day.

"Uchiha," called Toka.

The door to the room opened, and a man startlingly similar to Toka's sharp-eyed student strode in quickly. He brusquely slapped a folder onto the table and his eyes swirled into an unnaturally red color, three tomoe floating in each of his irises.

"That's an Uchiha," Tobirama stated to her needlessly.

"Is he related to Toka's student?"

"I think they're cousins." That hardly explained a thing, because every time they saw an Uchiha, Tobirama claimed that they were some cousin of Izuna or maybe an aunt. Then, he waved a small photo in her face. It was a folded piece of paper, creased so that the side he held up to her revealed a single figure. Short and grinning as widely as he could, eyes bright and hair chopped to a peculiar, squared length, a familiar face. Mariko could almost feel the happiness radiating from the old photo.

"Is this Hashirama?" she asked, taking the picture in her hands. Tobirama reluctantly let go, for it seemed like he'd merely wanted to show her Hashirama, and not the other side. But it was clear that Hashirama's arm was wrapped around somebody, and who else could it be besides Tobirama? "And you."

Small and as pale as his grown self, a child Tobirama.

_Ghost boy_, _small and quick, darting through the waves, skirting the edge of sand._

Hashirama was buoyant and cheery, as he usually was, while Tobirama had only offered mild smile, one guarded from the world, and perhaps of the camera.

"Do you have more pictures?"

"Only if you show me yours."

Mariko did, actually, bring a few thin, old photo albums from home, which she occasionally flipped through to calm the nauseous waves of homesickness that still leapt upon her at random times.

She gestured for them to leave. The Uchiha was now grilling the man, eyes menacing, and the archer was struggling with avoiding those glowing red eyes.

"Senju," the Uchiha said. "Throw the lights."

Mariko and Tobirama slipped out the door, but Toka didn't hit the lights, and neither did Tobirama. Confused, Mariko glanced back into the room. The man's eyes clouded over as soon as Toka touched his forehead.

"Genjutsu," Tobirama explained simply. "One to make the mind go black and throw him into a dark void."

That sounded both complicated and terrifying, so Mariko left Toka to her work.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "What if I could read minds?"_

_ "That would be awful."_

_ "Aww, Sumi, you always ruin the fun."_

_ "No, because if you could read minds, then _you'd_ ruin the fun."_

_ "At least I didn't spill soup on that An no Kuni man."_

_ "Really? You bring up the Red Bean Jam Country of all places?"_

_ "Well, it _was_ funny."_

_ "See, Katsurou? Even Mariko's not amused."_

_ "Lies, Sumi. She's trying not to laugh, is all."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Tobirama seemed dead set on leading Mariko to some sketchy, obscure corner of the village a ways behind the Hokage Tower. At first, his stubborn refusal to let go of her hand — more like he was clamped onto her wrist with a vengeance — was the primary factor in her inability to ditch and go the other way, but soon, she had two more reason why she couldn't just skip home. The second reason was that she was now in a sketchy, obscure corner of Konoha from which she had no clue how to return to the Senju complex, and the third was that she was curious.

The gradually skirted the big mountain, tinged orange as the sun began to lower. The white-haired Senju disappeared behind a slab of rock, and Mariko found herself rooted to the spot, wondering if he'd disappeared into the mountain, impossibly.

He poked his head back around and motioned for her to follow. What she saw, rounding the corner, was a small, arched passageway into the mountain. Its trail began with a smooth slope, before it progressively became darker and narrower. It came to the point where Tobirama, with his arms at his sides, fit almost perfectly. If he moved around too much, the walls would snug in on him. Mariko, being much more petite, found herself marveling at the tunnel, which had a light source she couldn't identify.

"There's stairs starting here," he called over his shoulder. The path flagged out just a little bit, and a rocky staircase began its ascent. Mariko climbed. And climbed, and climbed. Tobirama easily skipped steps, then paused to wait for her. She jogged up the next few, then rested a hand on the wall, somewhat out of breath. Tobirama waited patiently, but she didn't want to keep him waiting. Mariko mentally noted that she was nowhere near physically fit — horseback riding and playing the piano didn't quite promote cardiovascular endurance — and that perhaps she should start doing something. In a shinobi world, there was no telling what would happen, and she would be sorely upset when she needed physical strength and stamina but lacked it completely.

Panting quietly when they reached the top, and thoroughly glad there were no more stairs to climb, Mariko glanced around.

"How is this…?" Mariko gestured around her. It was a small plateau, a flat outcrop of rock along the side of the Hokage Mountain, overlooking the village. It was large enough to run a ways across and for Tobirama to lie down with his head to the rock face with his feet coming about three feet within the edge. Tobirama didn't lie down, but he simply sat a couple feet from the cliff drop and patted the seat beside him.

"I found this old outcrop when I was younger," he explained. "Hashi and I did, actually, when we were imagining our dream village."

He almost sounded wistful, but at the same time, content.

"There was a tunnel — we usually just climbed up or jumped down from the top of the mountain — that we noticed, so we used Doton to drill through it. Hashirama made the stairs." He watched the sun drop for a few seconds, shadows shifting slowly. Mariko thought of the ease with which he spoke of their shinobi ability to walk vertical straights. Then, watching him turn to her and continue, she admired the outline of his strong ninja shoulders, and thought it was definitely possible. She had seen many magical things, now. He said, "It's our secret place."

"That's amazing. It's beautiful," murmured Mariko, following his gaze and watching as the sun turned the sky brilliant hues of orange, pink, and red. Lasting streaks of yellow danced across the sky, shimmering until they blended into strokes of red-violet. The two stayed still until the last bit of burning sun slipped below the horizon, leaving only a pinkish afterglow. The dark blues of night and a blanket of stars began to roll itself over the sky, the onset of night. "Do you come here often?" Mariko asked. "The sunset is gorgeous."

"No, I don't. Haven't had the time, really." He smiled, seeming to reminisce.

"That makes it special," replied Mariko.

Tobirama insisted that she come sit next to him again, and Mariko obliged. However, as soon as she took a few steps out from the threshold of the tunnel, her body involuntarily froze. He glanced at her curiously.

"Shorty, c'mere."

"I am."

"No, no you're not." He arched a brow, his usual amused expression. Mariko began to walk again, but a flutter of panic shot her straight in the gut, and her nerves went taut. All she could see was jagged rocks of the wrong color, ones that didn't match the faded yellow of the Hokage Mountain. A memory opened itself to her: sharp boulders, slate gray, and the rush of angry water thundering away below her. Sumiko diving for the trees, Katsurou disappearing behind the bushes, a blur that was Ryouichi as she slipped through the gap.

"I'm good," she suddenly declared, almost inaudibly. Her left shoulder felt a strange twinge, and her heart beat too quickly. A small gap, really, it was. She could make it over, couldn't she? But she hadn't.

"Shorty," he repeated, standing.

_I won't fall_.

_Hide and seek_.

_He'll never find me here_.

"Shorty, you afraid of heights?" Tobirama asked, striding over to her. He walked so carelessly, hardly giving the edge a second glance; it made her nauseous.

"No."

"Yes, you are."

Mariko shook her head vehemently, and he caught her wrist, his grasp firm as it always was. He gently tugged her towards him, another arm securely wrapping itself around her shoulders, sidling out onto the outcrop.

"Stop it," she whispered hoarsely.

"You're fine, I promise," he whispered back, a low, comforting rumble.

But Mariko wasn't comforted. She was slipping through the gap again, fast. She hit the ledge below her hard, a jarring thud that echoed through her bones and her skull and resounded painfully. She was only there for a split second, because the next thing she knew, her body was rolling off that ledge, too. The ledge had tricked her into thinking she was safe — she'd hit something solid, after all — but it was slick and wet, and her little hands scraped into nothing. She was not an animal with claws to dig into the earth, she was not a creature that had the ability to cling to the rock face. Her hands slapped the rock, dark, soaked gray, each time feeling the coarse surface scrape her palms. Then her hand slapped nothing but air, and she was falling again, tipped over the edge.

Something stabbed her shoulder, and the wind flew from her lungs. It was sharp and it was red, everything was still. She slowly began to feel pain.

"Shorty!"

Mariko's eyes snapped open, and she found that her hands were fisted far too tightly around Tobirama's shirt, and she was shaking. She refused to look up, look down, or look anywhere, for that matter. She certainly didn't dare look behind her, where the drop imminently gaped at her.

"Don't," she pled softly.

"It's okay, we don't have to go too far out," he replied to her. "Get it together, Mariko."

Arms around her protectively, he ambled back to the tunnel's entrance, Mariko all the while hunched closely to his chest.

"You're afraid of heights," he stated simply.

"No, I'm not," she defended. She _wasn't_ afraid of heights, and she knew it for a fact. She could stand on Emerald Palace's top floor and be perfectly fine, and she'd been on top of the Hokage Tower, and plenty of other high places — both figuratively and physically — but simply the sight of a rock edge sent her stomach plummeting over it. "I'm not afraid of heights, I'm afraid of cliffs."

"Is there a difference?" he asked.

"Yes, there is!" she shouted, unnecessarily agitated. She fiddled nervously with her fingers, which had remained around the cloth of his shirt, pulling it loose and wrinkling it. Mariko's eyes dropped to her feet. "Sorry."

"No, don't be. My bad." Tobirama led her down the narrow corridor of steps, then finally down out where they'd started. He wove through a copse of trees and past a small park. Suddenly, they were on the south end of the Hokage Tower, making their way up to the Senju complex. He held her hand silently the entire way home.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Tell me the story of the Emerald Eagle. The one that saves children. What happened in the end?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

It was dark and getting late — reasonable cause for Sumiko and the others to be worrying. The moment Hashirama casually noted that his brother and Sumiko's sister were outside, Sumiko raised a tornado exit almost as grand as her entrance. She stormed outside, with fury in her wake.

"_Where_ have you been?! I thought someone had shot you!" she hissed, unreasonably angry. Mariko cringed; Tobirama must think that she and her sister were nuts for yelling without reason.

"If my brother hasn't said anything, then surely we must be fine," answered Tobirama calmly. He squeezed Mariko's hand lightly. It was a gesture that let her know he was smiling on the inside, amused by the older blunette's mother hen instincts.

Sumiko seemed to catch this, because her eyes flew down to where her little sister's hand met the Senju's. A flash of appreciative warmth crossed her eyes, before they kicked out any form of endearment and went up in flames.

"Mr. Suave, don't be taking my sister out late now," Sumiko accused. Mariko was usually quite adept at telling whether or not her sister was trying to be sarcastic, but at the moment, she couldn't quite discern if Sumiko was about to start joking around, or if she was about to pull a Toka and run after Tobirama with a knife.

"Yes ma'am," came the reply, dryly. When Tobirama took his leave and didn't let go of Mariko's hand, both blunettes' eyes widened in surprise. Apparently, he had no intention of leaving without her at the moment, and his plans did not include joining Sumiko and his Senju brother and brother's wife at the table.

"You're coming to dinner," she stated flatly.

"Maybe later." Tobirama waved it off.

Mariko glanced back at her older sister and shrugged, equally confused.

"You'd better remember what I told you, ghost boy!" hollered Sumiko before they disappeared around a neighbor's house.

* * *

"So tell me, Shorty, what happened up there?" It turned out that he was simply wondering why she'd frozen up on a cliff, randomly, and without explanation.

"I fear cliffs," she answered as simply as possible. He made a face.

"You fear cliffs, why?" he added. She sat cross-legged across from him, holding her ankles and rocking back and forth as she formulated an answer that wouldn't sound bluntly ridiculous, like she'd made it up. He lounged with his back to the headboard of the bead, feet extending past her.

"I fell off of one."

"There, that wasn't so hard."

"Yes, yes it was." It was Mariko's turn to make a face, because just trying to think of that simple answer ran her through the memories of medics in green, and then random people in a variety of other colors, running over to her and making a fuss. Not a fuss, but an enormous commotion, because Ryouichi was clinging to her and refusing to let go, and Katsurou's eyes were the size of saucers, and Sumiko was crying, screaming, and maybe both.

_I let her fall_ — a pained, congested sob from beside her.

But he hadn't; she'd fallen on her own.

"I fell on my back and was stabbed by a jagged rock," the blunette offered. "I still have a scar on my left shoulder."

Tobirama watched her carefully, and didn't really reply. Instead, he nodded quietly and sat up, crossing his legs just as she was.

Then, he poked her.

The smallest of smiles flickered across his face, and she was relieved. She poked him back, because he'd prompted her to.

"Shorty, guess what I found out about you?"

Apprehensively, she shook her head, jabbing him hard in the abdomen. A failed attempt at producing any sort of good reaction, because he tensed and his stomach was firm and impenetrable. Grinning, he leaned forward. Mariko realized how nervous she'd become, palms clammy and heart racing again. She also realized how long it had been since that morning before Hiruzen's training, the last time he'd kissed her.

She wondered what it meant.

"I found out," he said, leaning ever closer, "that…"

Mariko stopped wondering what in the world she had been wondering about, for now he was nearly upon her, and she was focusing on the proximity of his lips to hers and not even what he was about to say.

"That your _feet are ticklish_," he exclaimed, before pulling an ankle out from beneath her. She squealed, a high-pitched yelp, and then was squirming frantically because he was, indeed, tickling her feet. Amidst her tears of laughter, she kicked out at him, a feeble attempt to get his hands off her. It didn't work, of course. She grabbed the closest thing she could, which happened to be one of those accursedly fluffy pillows, and whacked him across the nose.

"Stop it, no!" she wailed, succumbing to laughter and ending up wriggling in his lap like a fish out of water.

"Shorty, you look ridiculous," he deadpanned, face straight as he held onto her. He tickled her feet and kept a good grasp on her ankles until she was laughing too hard to produce a comprehensible sentence, and was begging for mercy.

And then she was sprawled on him, her back to his chest, lying exhausted because he'd pulled her up after she admitted defeat. Defeat from what, she wasn't quite sure, but she was somewhat relieved.

Flipping so that they were face to face, she stared him down.

"Don't. Tickle. Me." Seriously, she glared at him. But the expression he returned made her giggle, and then she burst into laughter, enjoying the slight rumble of a chuckle that emanated from his chest.

When she least expected it, during the one moment she wasn't nervously calculating the distance between their faces, he slipped a hand under her chin and gave her a chaste peck on the lips. Surprised, Mariko stilled in his arms. He sat up, so that she was in his lap, and kissed her again. He seemed about to push her down on her back when her stomach growled. Loudly.

They burst into laughter again, and decided that it would be a good idea to go to dinner, lest Sumiko kick down the walls and throw something pointy at Tobirama's head.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_The story of the Emerald Eagle._

_ There once was a creature, a fearsome creature, and it was everything but a graceful, high-flying eagle. It was a wolf, a man-wolf, a creature of darkness that stole jewels from the earth and sucked life from the people. It had a tradition, an atrocious hunger for children, to flay them alive for his evening meal or just to throw them off the southeastern cliffs until his desperate hunger was satiated with the screams of human children. _

_ But there was also a hero to this island, an eagle with feathers burnt by the sun. He was completely black, this eagle, for he had flown too high one day and the sun had angrily charred him permanently. However, his eyes were green, born from the earth of the island itself — emeralds. And so, the eagle became the Emerald Eagle, the island bird._

_ It was not the eagle's eyes, however, that gave him his own story. He would, when the wolf's brainwashed allies could not restrain him, catch the falling children and sweep them up onto his back, for he was a giant eagle, larger than a man. With one on his back and one clutched gently in his talons, he would fly and deliver them home, like a baby-carrying crane. The eagle circled back and forth, saving children._

_ That is, until an arrow flew up from the island and pierced him through._

_ This was quite a feat, for the Emerald Eagle was quick and alert. _

_ The arrow had been coated with his own feathers, collected for the precious meaning behind them. The Emerald Eagle's coal feathers were prized as good luck charms, bringing safety to family and health._

_ A boy had collected these feathers ever since he was little. A blue-haired boy he was, and talented at archery. He was the island's prince, a beloved young boy who had grown into a handsome young man. He had not realized, in the glare of sunlight, what he had just shot. He thought it was a small bird, one he hunted regularly, but in reality it was the Emerald Eagle, appearing small because of his height._

_ The Emerald Eagle's own feathers had carried the arrow up so, so far as to kill him. And so, he fell, so, so far, until his body shook the entire island, quivering before the boy's feet._

_ Horrified, the boy began to cry and yell, for he believed himself cursed._

_ To his surprise, the eagle turned to him, emerald eyes staring into his own brown ones, wise and calming. Where the arrow pierced him, his blood turned to gold._

It is not your fault, I feel no pain.

_"Emerald Eagle, holy Emerald Eagle, what have I done?" wailed the boy, sobbing as he tried to gather the limp bird in his arms. The Emerald Eagle was large, warm and strong. He flapped his left wing feebly, body quivering as death encroached his feathered limbs, numbing his talons. _

Be calm, boy, for you have only made a mistake.

_"Tell me what to do, Emerald Eagle," pled the boy._

All things have a remedy, until death parts you from this world. The island goes on.

_"Emerald Eagle, I—"_

Be calm, boy, and promise me one thing.

_A black wing brushed the boy's shoulder._

Become my knight and my human embodiment, child, for you are strong.

_The boy did not believe he was strong. He was a weak prince, one that never lived up to expectations._

_ "Emerald Eagle, what shall I do? I am only twelve years old."_

Then I shall become your wisdom. Promise me you will never fall to the evils of the Wolf, child.

_"I promise."_

Now, my eyes become yours, child. Your arrow has my heart, and thus binds me to you. But do not worry, for I will care for you well.

_Confused, for the eagle had died so quickly and had offered little explanation, the boy stared. He could not tell, for one cannot see his own face, but his eyes had turned an ocean green, glimmering with the hues of a polished emerald. Slowly, in his hands, the eagle disintegrated until it was an empty shell of burnt feathers, nothing but a charred memory._

_ Standing, the boy grew._

_ He grew, and grew, and grew until he was a man, strong and fierce._

_ He battled the Wolf day after day, the hero of the island. He fell in love, married a beautiful maiden, and had his first child._

_ But his first child was marred by a horrid red mark, the baby's face blotchy and red and scarred with evil. The blue-haired boy, now a man, knew that this was the Wolf's doing. The Wolf had cursed his wife during her pregnancy, and now their baby was marred. By the looks of it, the baby was suffering, as the skin blistered and burned and made her cry. The wife cradled the baby close, each day smoothing salve over the impossibly burnt skin in hopes that the child would heal. But she did not._

_ The Wolf waited for the man, and just as he expected, the blue-haired man came and demanded that the demonic burn that plagued his daughter be removed._

_ "So long as you make a contract with me, I will take away her pain."_

_ "I will not," boomed the man._

_ "Then the deal is nothing," replied the Wolf._

_ "Hurricane Wolf, I will force you to heal my child."_

_ "And all those other children, too?" The Wolf leered, jaws snapping and creasing into a horrible grin. But he was right; how could the island's king experience such a privilege without trying to help his own people as well? There must've been a myriad of children who suffered similarly. He couldn't stop all of the Wolf's attacks, after all. "I'll heal your child if you sacrifice your wife or yourself. Or, perhaps, if you would look at a contract once more…"_

_ The man refused both._

_ "Well," snarled the Wolf. "Eventually, both will happen. I will wait for you, son."_

_ But the man bumbled back to his home, desperate and in tears._

_ "Please help our child," pled his crying wife. The man promised, and he recalled that when he promised something, he would never take back his words. So, trudging back to the Wolf, he declared:_

_ "Evil Wolf, I will contract with you if you heal _all_ the children on this island, and promise never to plague them again."_

_ The Wolf came up to him, a massive, hulking creature with slate-gray fur the color of the island's rock formations and jaws that could snap a man in half. _

_ "Contract," he echoed, almost in delight. In that moment, he struck out with a sharp claw and gouged out the man's eyes. "Thank you, Lord King, for the delicious meal."_

_ The Wolf had always been a straightforward one: A plot to throw children off the cliff most literally meant that he would throw children off the cliff. However, having no idea what a contract meant, the man came into the deal believing he would give up certain terms, such as ceasing to bother the wolf and allowing him something._

_ Instead, the Wolf craved his blood and the ancient legends that ran through it, and the Emerald Eagle's eyes._

_ As soon as the eyes were torn, and the man staggered back, the Emerald Eagle appeared._

I am disappointed, child.

_But the man could hardly speak, how fiercely he was clutching at his face._

_ "He's succumbed to my magic," the Wolf cackled._

What you have is not magic, fiend.

_"What I have is _power_, Eagle," replied the Wolf. Scooping up the green eyes, the Wolf marveled at them. Then, in a single bound, he was across the city and heading for the capital's palace, where he intended to rip every single royal to shreds and claim the blood of the princess child for his meal._

_ "No, don't take them!" screamed the man, scrambling to his feet, eyeless and unable to sob in his pain. "Don't take them, take me!"_

He will not take you. You have sacrificed already. By falling to his evils, you have endangered those you love.

_"Emerald Eagle, please, save them."_

I cannot.

_The man, sobbing, felt a tremor and imagined a shriek — the Wolf slicing his claws through his wife, and his wife falling to the ground._

_ His child._

_ He must save his child._

_ "Emerald Eagle, lend me your eyes, I will save them!"_

Child, I have never left you. I am still your eyes.

_The man ran, with renewed effort, and arrived with a mighty knight's sword in his hands. The Wolf glanced back, amused. Even as the man hacked him to pieces, saving his daughter and wife from the Wolf's clutches, the Wolf laughed._

_ The kingdom was safe, his wife and child alive._

_ But the Wolf laughed, even in his final moments._

_ Thirteen years later, the mother died of an unknown cause, presumably an unexpected heart attack. The kingdom wept, as did the royal family._

Child. Look closely with my eyes.

_The man looked, and he saw what he saw. He understood why the Wolf had been smiling his terrible, fanged smile in his final moments — why, as he grasped both the queen and the child in his claws, he did not fear death._

_ For it seemed that he never died, only reincarnated himself._

_ Seen only with the Emerald Eagle's eyes, claw marks across the queen's body, invisible to the regular eye. The Wolf had stolen her, gradually, bit by bit. And the king suspecting nothing._

Child, do not be sorrowful.

_"I made another mistake," the man wept._

All things have remedies, until death takes you away.

_"Will you take my wife away?"_

If you so wish it.

_And, for the last time, the Emerald Eagle spoke to him. He saw, with his green, emerald eyes that were now his own, a black eagle lifting into the sky. With a shudder, the mighty bird's ebony wings were shed, and underneath, he had a brilliant blue coat of feathers, shining sapphire. He would have been complete, had his eyes retained their emerald hue, but instead, he had the boy's eyes, brown and quiet. _

I shall leave, child, for you have lost yourself to the Wolf's evils. From now on, beware of his malice and his greed. He shall never best you again.

_The Emerald Eagle turned into a man, one that uncannily resembled the king, and offered his hand. _

_ From the casket, a woman rose; the queen. She took the eagle's human hand and they ascended into the sky, leaving the man and his daughter watching._

_ "Momma's gone, isn't she? I saw her go."_

_ The man looked down at his daughter sadly, watching her deep, green eyes carefully._

_ "Yes, she is."_

_ The moon that night was full, and the man felt its light pounding on him, weighing him down. He sat beside his daughter, watching the child learn to play an instrument out on the balcony so the sound could ring. It was a thought that produced a melancholy twinge in his heart — to know that the Emerald Eagle had restored his eyesight with these emerald eyes, and it was because of that he could see his daughter play her violin._

_ He looked into the sky._

May the stars crown you with emeralds,

and the sea wash upon a herd of sapphire horses.

_The man touched one of his eyes absently, wondering if, perhaps, it was made of true emerald. But it was only his imagination; there was not a single shred of real sight, but only what he wished to be true._

May the river and its stars guide you to the heart of your destination.

Follow the path, encrusted with jewels,

A horseshoe of impossible light;

your sight is your creation.

_"Emerald Eagle, give me luck. And as when I depart, may the stars return these emeralds to their rightful owner."_

The midst of a typhoon, the eye of a storm,

Let the river horses take you to all but the world,

The unreached mountain watches,

As your emerald heart unfurls.

_"Protect my daughters and sons, and their children too. I owe my sight to you, Emerald Eagle."_

_ An arctic gust blew over the man, hailing the call of an impending ice storm. The man recalled his daughter inside, taking one last glance at what he hoped was reality._

_ "Daddy, where has the moon gone?"_

_ Indeed, the storm clouds had obscured the ghostly orb of the sky._

When you reach the end of time,

And the Hurricane Wolf devours your soul,  
_"The storm is coming," said the man, before addressing her question. "And the moon has closed its eyes. Hurry inside before it sees you."_

_ But of course, the moon had seen all, and it was not focused on the girl. It watched the man, blue-haired and green-eyed, with what seemed like ancient disdain. The man pulled his daughter inside, sliding the door shut and listening to the increase of pattering rain until it resolved to pounding hail and screeching winds. His daughter began to cry, for without the distraction of her instrument, she could only think of her mother. The king cradled his daughter to his chest protectively, and quietly, quietly, cried with her._

Protect your heart and watch your feet,

For the moon sees sins at whole.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Oh, that story?" asked Katsurou. "I hate that story, it's got a terrible ending."

"Not all stories are like fairytales," answered Ryouichi. "A lot of them teach you things."

"I think that the point of that story was to tell us not to shoot gigantic birds in the sky or provoke evil wolves," snorted Katsurou, rolling his eyes. "It also has the island poem, which is a bunch of poetically phrased prophetic drama."

"That's not very accurate," replied the older brother. "What if _you _shot him? You're an archer, right? You can see how the island's poem works, here. Remember that it's a story, Katsurou."

"I can _see_ the freaking bird, Ryo," drawled Katsurou, polishing his bow, coincidentally. He oiled it and checked that he had at least ten good arrows in his quiver, and then ran his finger over its fine owl feathers. "Besides that, why does Hurricane have such a creepy poem for its culture? Can't we have something about _happy_ people?"

"I'm sure you can," snorted Sumiko. "After all, you have its eyes."

Feigning shock, Katsurou made a face at her.

"It's just a story of how we have blue hair and green eyes," he returned. "Besides that, why does Hurricane have such a creepy poem for its culture? Can't we have something about _happy_ people? Happy people with green eyes, instead of sad people?"

"Then why do we have blue hair? Why does the eagle turn into a blue eagle? How does it turn into a man? Where did they go? Why is the moon watching them? Ryo, the girl plays the violin like you. Katsurou, you know he couldn't see the bird clearly? What if the sun was glaring in _your _eyes? What happened to the Wolf? Did he really die? Why didn't the Eagle help him before his eyes were taken? What kinds of things did the king do against the Wolf every day? Why did he even agree to it? I think it's kind of weird, too. I mean, why would you just waltz on up to an evil wolf without any sort of defense? What is the _real_ point of this story?"

"Stirrups, Mariko, enough with the questions!" exclaimed Sumiko. "One at a time, please."

"Why do we have blue hair?"

"I think there's another story for that," Ryouichi said. "An older one that I can't remember. Go ask Mother."

"Mother's not feeling well."

"Go ask Father, then," suggested the First Prince.

Mariko gave him a dry look, before folding her arms, looking like a miniature version of Katsurou, who was in the same pose next to her.

"Ask Katsurou, then," Ryouichi said, "since he seems to know all."

"That's ironic, coming from the smarty-pants of the household," jeered Katsurou, stuffing his hands in his pockets after shouldering his archery pack.

"Just shut up, all of you," growled Sumiko.

"_Somebody_'s having mood swings."

Sumiko attempted to hit Katsurou, who dodged and danced out the door.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ I don't think I ever found out why we have blue hair._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

After dinner, which consisted mainly of Sumiko planting well-placed questions that subtly implied that she wanted to know what sort of romantic progress had been developing between her little sister and Mr. Suave, Mariko was sitting on Tobirama's bed again. Dinner had been interspersed with questions as to Katsurou's whereabouts — which were answered with little information, for Hashirama had not yet heard back from either Inuzuka scout groups, or even from the messenger post — and Sumiko's own interrogation led to a mildly uncomfortable Tobirama and a fidgety, nervous Mariko.

Relieved to be away from her prodding and poking sister, Mariko dangled her feet off the end of the bed and pointed to another picture in the old photo album.

"Who's this?"

"Toka."

"Wait, really?!" Mariko bent over the picture, for Toka looked nothing like the Toka now. With no feminine traits, hair covering a majority of her face, Mariko had mistaken her for a young Senju boy.

"And this is Arata, when he was ten."

"No way," Mariko squealed, a delighted teenage giggle. He arched his brows at her, before closing his eyes again as he lounged back on his pillows. "Wait, I want to see a picture of you."

"No."

She placed herself closer to him, staring at him until he was forced to open his eyes.

"Stop staring at me."

"Show me a picture of you, then."

"So that you can stare at it?"

She poked his leg angrily, and he shrunk away, scowling.

"No, I just want to see!"

"Shorty, I don't care if you poke me or annoy me to death, I won't do it."

"Why not?" Mariko needed a good explanation before she would relent. Simply wanting to see a photo shouldn't have been a bad thing, right? Besides that, she was wondering why in the world he was refusing to let her see pictures when she'd already seen one of him before.

"I don't smile," he offered.

"That was a terrible excuse."

"Well, _excuse_ me."

"You make terrible puns," she complained, flopping onto her back. She was small enough to squeeze in beside him, head under his outstretched arms. "And don't tell me it's because you look bad."

He sat up, and walked briskly over to a desk at the far end of his room. He dug through a lower drawer and flopped another photo book into her lap.

"Happy?" Tobirama plunked back down on the bed, carelessly, and faced away from her. Mariko, a little offended, flipped gingerly through the book. She realized, suddenly, why he hadn't wanted to show her. His youngest days were unmarred, a two-year-old with a clear smile. But as he grew older, she noticed the arrival of the red tattoos, sometimes irritated and almost bloody. Tobirama seemed to get in a lot of fights, because he was sometimes bruised and battered. Hashirama was a constant, always smiling and consoling, but Tobirama hardly ever smiled. He was sad.

"You're sad all the time," she said.

"Hashirama complained that I never smiled."

"Why not?"

He didn't answer.

"I'm sorry." She tapped his back.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, before staring at the wall again. Mariko touched his arm, and found that instead of having warm hands, her fingers were cold. His skin was warm, and she took his larger hand in the two of hers, and held it in her lap. This twisted him awkwardly, for he was lying on his side and she had pulled his hand behind him.

Tobirama didn't move.

Mariko shifted over a bit and grabbed his shoulder, forcefully turning him onto his back. He was much larger and heavier, and was obviously resisting her stubbornly. Frowning, she crawled closer to him, kneeling and pulled him over using her body as leverage. Tobirama, smirking slightly, stopped fighting her and caused her to fall backwards because of her extra momentum.

"You're terrible," she pouted, as she nearly rolled off the bed. Mariko straightened herself and folded her arms.

Tobirama didn't answer, but touched her leg and laid back down. Boldly, she touched his temple, then his cheekbone. Carefully sliding the photo album away, Mariko readjusted herself so that she was lying beside him. Her fingers, strangely cold — she felt they were clammy and stiff, his skin warm under her fingertips — traced the strong line of his jaw, till she reached his chin. He took her hand gently and studied them. His warm palms engulfed her chilled fingers as he turned to face her.

"I'm terrible?" He came forward and pressed his lips to hers more firmly, hands tucked between their chests. Mariko decided she liked it much better than the quick brush of lips he'd given earlier, though she wasn't sure she quite liked the fact that her back was pressing into a hard corner of the photo album, and she was nearly falling off the bed.

"I'm going to fall—ow," she muttered, trying to keep the book from stabbing her.

"My photos are evil, I told you," he said between a kiss, grabbing it from beneath her and tossing it on the floor haphazardly.

"Hey! Those were—"

"They're fine," he said, cutting her off as he planted a hand on either side of her waist, positioning above her.

"I'm going to fall," she repeated.

"That's fine with me." He didn't seem to care that she was about to roll off the edge of his bed, because his one arm was securely placed by her thigh his right hand was gripping her shoulder now. Maybe if Mariko tugged the blankets they would both just tumble into a heap on the ground.

So she tugged, as hard as she could, and the look on Tobirama's face was priceless. It hurt, crashing onto the floor together, but Mariko decided it was worth seeing the incredulous expression that crossed as a surprised gape on his face.

"Shorty," he said. "Are you so in love with that album that you wish to follow it?"

"Maybe I like the pictures. Hey!"

He slid a hand along her waist and pressed her against the floor, fully on top of her now. He carefully kept his own torso from crushing her, forming somewhat of a roof over the blunette. Tobirama was fascinated by her blue hair, which splayed in a wavy cascade all over the floor, over tangled parts of blanket that had followed them down and was trapped between his thigh and her legs. He took a small tress and fingered it, letting the silky strands slip through his thumb and forefinger.

"Have you been using Hashirama's hair conditioner?" He made an overly sarcastic accusatory glare, to which she spluttered overly indignantly.

"No, I have not," she answered, pursing her lips ridiculously at him. Tobirama liked that, because he kissed her again, lightly.

"Lies," he claimed.

"You're terrible," she reiterated. He rolled his eyes, then looked a tad astonished as she reached her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. "I'm not made of glass, you know."

He'd been holding himself up, afraid of crushing her. Upon hearing this, he let his body weight partially rest on her, stomachs pressed together and faces close. Mariko flushed slightly, from the heat and proximity. Tobirama dipped his face down to hers again, and nuzzled her neck, thinking. He visibly shivered when she ran a hand through his marvelously white, glowing hair. His hand, gloriously warm, slid along the edge of her waist and outlined her hips. Tobirama lowered his lips to her collarbone, glancing up at her for an instant.

Suddenly he froze, the intense friction of his hand sliding up her shirt freezing instantly. He cast a disgusted glance behind him.

Someone knocked on the door, loudly.

"TOBIRAMA-SENSEI HURRY I BURNT THE KITCHEN!" came the incessant holler of a boy who'd failed at wielding a frying pan successfully.

Tobirama looked like he wanted to scream back something at the boy. The door flew open, a haggard and tired Hiruzen in its threshold. From the ridiculously pink apron slung across his body and the fringed, burnt edges of his hair, Hiruzen was the picture of a mess. He certainly looked like he'd burned something down.

Then, the boy glanced down at his teacher and the girl. A slightly puzzled expression crossed his face, and then he turned beet red.

And then, wisely, he ran for his life.

Growling, Tobirama pushed himself to his feet.

"Wait here."

He stormed out the door and yelled something that sounded like a punishment for Hiruzen and a demand to know what fire was where. Mito screeched something unrepeatable, and the sound of a river flying through the walls was heard. A river, through the walls? Unlikely, but knowing Tobirama and his ability to create water from nothing, he was probably just dousing the flame. Overdoing it, but fixing the problem all the same.

"Tobi, get back here, your brother's in the Hokage Tower working late and all you do is make that face at me?! HEY!"

"Sensei, Tobirama-sensei, I'm sorry!" wailed Hiruzen.

"Silence, Saru."

"_What_ is going on?!" came the incredulous voice of Hashirama. "Who burnt the frying pan?! Hiruzen, why are you wearing my wife's apron? Rocks, child, your hair is burned!"

"Hashirama, please hit your brother in the head for me. You're closer."

Tobirama dodged the slap, because Mariko heard nothing, only his footsteps as he strode quickly back to the room and slammed the door. He sat down heavily on the bed and rubbed his forehead.

"Damn Saru," he hissed under his breath. Glancing over at the blunette, who had reclined against the tangle of bed linens, his face softened. She was tired, suddenly, felt the urge to sleep. The day had been long, and images of Toka's interrogation, the cliff, and Sumiko making suggestive expressions flashed constantly. "Shorty?" called Tobirama. "You sleepy?"

It was about eleven thirty at night, so naturally, she felt her body clock winding down. Vaguely, Mariko wondered where Tenzou the cat was. He wasn't that big of an animal, still young, and still quite scrawny. She hoped he was tucked away cozily, maybe in that favorite tree of his. Her imagination sent her to her own cozy place, mind growing fuzzy, failing to realize that Tobirama had scooped her up and placed her in the bed. A flap, as he straightened the dragged comforters and laid them over her, tucking her in.

"Lights," she mumbled. It was too bright for her to sleep. But other than that, the bed was magnificently soft and lush, soft colors soothing her mind.

"Whatever you say, Shorty." He flipped the switch, darkening the room. Moonlight through the window illuminated a spot of the floor behind him.

"Tobirama," she said, half asleep, speaking into the pillow. "What happened to those bandits you caught?"

The Senju considered this, before he slipped into the covers beside her.

"Nothing happened," he assured her. Unbeknownst to the girl, he soothed her mind with a small circulation of chakra that he pressed to her lips with his own.

"Where'd they go?"

He had to listen closely now, for she was nearly incoherent through that impossibly soft pillow. He answered: "Nowhere. Maybe you and I will defeat them in your dreams."

Sleepy and disoriented, Mariko liked this answer.

Then, solemnly and dead serious:

"Tobirama, I forgot to brush my teeth."

The rumble of his chest, a laugh, lulled her deeper into sleep. With the Senju stroking her sapphire hair, Mariko found her eyelids growing heavier and heavier. She thought of the rock people story, and the leader's ability to make things heavy as rocks. Her eyelids were the same, drooping and drooping till her narrow vision of a white-haired man slipped shut.

She thought she heard him say, a voice achingly similar to Katsurou's, "May the stars crown you with emeralds, and the sea wash upon a herd of sapphire horses, Lady Princess."

But that was unlikely. She decided that he actually said:

"Sweet dreams, Shorty."

Yes. That sounded right.

* * *

I have what I call "Writer's Moodswing".

I somehow went from Sumiko and stuff, to

cutesy to sappy to serious to the-kind-of-bedtime-stories-you-tell-to-kids-to-warn-them-of-boogie-wolf-monsters-like-obito-or-something.

And then tickling the feet, and the...the whaaat.

Oh Mariko, you so funny. _


	10. Eagle

First off, who read chapter 622? Did anyone totally -squeeee- at the beginning? Madara and Hashirama are HILARIOUS. I need to make Hashirama more in character.

Secondly, Kishi just killed me with little Tobirama. No worries, I revived myself via perfect Edo Tensei (not really). But he _doesn't_ have the facial markings, so I wonder how he actually gets them... (here Kishi, take my story and make it canon, lol).

Thirdly: The Uchiha have lots and lots of children.

Fourthly: ITAMA THE POOR THING (he had funky hair, though)

Fifthly: Senju clan = everyone's name ends in -ama. Trolol.

ANYWAY.

**Disclaimer:** Naruto doesn't belong to me, because looook how cuteeeee Madara and Hashirama are! (plus, Hashi's father was mean). That, and my Tobirama has epic mood swings, and pshh Hurricane doesn't exist (or does it? ohoho), and I need to make people more in-character...

Btw, I love Mito. To bits and pieces.

**Note: **LITTLE HASHI AND MADDY. TOO. CUTE. AND TOBI. WHYYYY.

Tell me what you think, please. This chapter confused me, lol. (that's just...fail. :'D_

**Note 2: Check my dA page! I've got an entire Hurricane folder~**

**ANNOUNCEMENT: This chapter has been edited to make Madara less mean. Izuna will remain the mild character he is, for I imagine he's softened from the times of war. Etc etc.**

* * *

**Chapter 10: ****Eagle**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dreamless._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Softly, a dim light entered her vision. Hazy white, cream, with a tinge of sky blue at the edges. She found that her head was tucked on a surprisingly warm pillow; not too warm, but comfortable, as if she fit perfectly into that little niche. She found that when the pillow rumbled a mild "Morning, Shorty", she was not startled. In fact, the familiar timbre of his voice could have lulled her back to sleep easily.

"Good morning," Mariko mumbled, the feeling coming to her fingertips as she realized her hand was splayed across his chest. Tobirama didn't seem to mind, for his breathing was gentle and his left arm serving as half her pillow, careful not to wake her. Mariko shifted, discovering the covers were tangled round her legs. In her clumsy effort to straighten them out so she could sit up properly, Tobirama harrumphed and complained that she was kicking him. "Well," she said back, "who's the grumpy one now?"

"You never showed me those pictures you promised," he suddenly said, changing the topic abruptly. Mariko groaned inwardly, finally starting to wake up. She recalled hoping that he'd forget the pictures, and instead, escape the embarrassment of showing him her baby photos. But he'd shown her his own, so she supposed it was fair.

Tobirama sat up, letting her head fall on empty air, and then pillows. Disoriented, Mariko squinted at him.

"Ow," she said.

"You fell on pillows, Shorty," he snorted as he stretched lightly.

"So?" Mariko pouted and hugged said pillow, looking ridiculous as she melded into the bed itself and glared at him.

"You nearly pushed me off the bed last night, you know?" Tobirama walked over to his drawers and began rummaging through them. When he didn't seem to find the article of clothing he wanted, he stepped over to his closet and roughly slapped through the hangers as well.

"Did not," retorted Mariko, hugging the pillow closer.

"You did," Tobirama justified.

"How long have you been up?" Now, with a creeping suspicion that he was just messing with her, Mariko narrowed her eyes further at him. She _definitely_ did not kick at night, as far as she knew, because she knew for a fact that Katsurou and Sumiko were the distressed sleepers of Hurricane. Ryouichi transformed into a rock at night, while Katsurou and Sumiko could be having some sort of shinobi battle in their sleep. Mariko shifted, sure, but she was more like a floating stalk of seaweed rather than a rock or a crazy ninja. (She vaguely wondered how their spouses dealt with them, those two siblings of hers…)

"An hour or so."

So he'd been waiting for her. Wonderful.

"And what time is it?"

"About ten, I don't really know." He shrugged, pulling out a mesh undershirt from the floor of his closet.

"Do you _ever_ clean?" she asked.

"Well, my room's clean." He gestured to the rest of the bedroom. Mariko approved of this part – at least his bed was tidy each and every day, and he didn't leave things strewn across the floor. His closet, however, seemed to be another story entirely.

"Does your cleaning jutsu not extend to your closet?"

"It doesn't really need to," he replied. "At least I find things that I need."

"You're just making excuses, now," Mariko accused.

"Shorty, did you know that your head weighs a thousand pounds? Seriously, my arm's still asleep," he quipped lightly, rubbing his left arm as if to show her how badly she'd cut off his circulation. He ignored the pillow that was flung his way – the tall Senju was quite used to it now – and promptly pulled off his shirt.

Mariko must've shouted something at him, but she forgot what, because she was mainly focused on throwing more pillows at him. Tobirama scoffed and pulled on the mesh shirt, looking rather rumpled from the series of pillows hitting his head.

"Aww thanks," he grumbled, "you're training me to dodge enemy pillows."

"Have you no manners?!" she hollered.

"Shush, woman, Mito might hear you." Tobirama stalked over and stuffed a pillow in her face, which wasn't very helpful because she could see him and his mesh shirt, and _it was a mesh shirt_, she could see right through it. She began to question the point of wearing such a shirt. Perhaps all shinobi attire was just as ridiculous. It made one look strong and cool, sure, but did it really serve any purpose? Maybe that blue armor with the fluffy collar was all for decoration. Did it actually shield anything?

"Let her hear me," hissed Mariko, pushing the pillow back at his face, as if it would do her a world of good. That was a bad thing to say, apparently, because he returned by smashing a few more pillows, plus the coverlets, over her face and practically smothering her. It was also a bad thing because he was on top of her now, his smirk incredibly wide and annoying.

Muffled, Mariko tried kicking him. He weighed far more than her, however, so she could not even attempt to roll him to the side.

"Who weighs a thousand pounds now?" she said vehemently. His eyebrows arched, amused.

"Did you know," he said, altering the line of conversation yet again, "that you snore?"

"I do _not_!" she exclaimed. "That's _outrageous!_"

He laughed, a light rumble, and then touched her hair. The action immediately silenced her, for now the little blunette was staring at his hand. Well, as much of his hand as she could see, because it was running down behind her ear, tucking her hair back.

"_You_ snore," she said.

"I sleep silently as a cat," Tobirama claimed.

"You sleep like an elephant is stampeding," Mariko returned.

"Lies," he told her, before quickly pressing his lips to hers. She went quiet for a moment. The look on Tobirama's face was smug; he believed he'd won this match. But in reality, Mariko was just plotting her next devious remark.

"You have morning breath," she said simply. He made a face. Then, pushing himself up and away, he strode over to his closet, picked up another article of clothing, and threw it around his shoulders. This time, the shirt was of substantial, opaque material – a light blue jacket-like top that closed with a traditional-style cloth belt.

"At least I brushed my teeth last night," he threw over his shoulder, before grabbing his happuri, the faceguard hitai-ate engraved with Konoha's symbol, and sliding out the door. She glowered at the spot where he stood, long after he'd left.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_Do great shinobi ever make mistakes?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"I've information on the black market," Mito said, rather formally for a breakfast setting. She slapped a folder down. "He was in Uzu, a week ago."

The look on her face was registered as disgust. It was understandable that any country had a black market, but Mito's homeland was always an honorable one.

"What were they dealing?" asked Etsuko, sipping a cup of orange juice. She was about to turn seventeen, so she was understandably excited. Her family always threw a gigantic party, using up most the Senju complex, and it was such a big deal that the entire clan enjoyed it. Etsuko's father had long since died in battle, so she grew up with her mother, and Arata was the paterfamilias of their family unit, the always steady brother.

Nonetheless, Etsuko was always involved with these matters now, especially since her fiancé was Kell.

"Opium," spat Mito. "And specialized blades."

"Traditional items of the trade," Hashirama agreed. "Drugs and weapons."

"They were also selling human organs," Kell added, glancing at the list inside the folder Mito had placed on the table.

"That one's easier to understand," Mito said. "We have organized donors for organs, but there are many people in need, so plenty of smaller practices obtain their transplant organs that way. Otherwise, the big hospitals are in charge of the formal medicines."

"I've always admired Uzushiogakure for their medical advancements," Kell said, beaming. "They were the first to maneuver successfully around chakra lines during surgeries, right?"

"With the help of Konoha," Mito replied mildly, casting a fond glance at Hashirama.

"Honey, that was the Hyuuga, not me," he murmured to her. Most of the table chuckled at this.

"Senju, Senju, number one," sang Etsuko, giggling.

"Did someone give her too much sugar?" asked Tobirama, jerking a thumb at the cheery younger girl.

"It's the birthday high," Arata sighed, planting his chin in his hand. He was immediately scolded by Mito, who told him to get his elbows off the table. Wisely, he complied.

"Tobirama," Etsuko said, turning to her cousin. "I thought you had a training this morning?"

"With my team?" Tobirama made a face. "Well, Saru burnt the frying pan, so I'll make him wait."

"Does a frying pan even _burn_?" asked Mariko. She'd been pondering this overly seriously. Frying pans, designed to cook things, should not be able to _burn_ if they were constantly used over a fire.

"No, they don't," mused Tobirama. "But he did it, somehow. The thing was practically melted."

"IT'S GENJUTSU," blurted Etsuko, eyes wide. Her lips pressed into a narrow "o", making her look like a skinny and pale ghost with dark hair. "How was that, did I look like an Uchiha?"

At this, Tobirama smiled slightly, while Hashirama and Mito gave her disapproving glances. Mariko was liking Etsuko more and more. The way she was casual, and especially since she was one of Mariko's first friends in Konoha, due to their age similarities. Etsuko had talked to her during mealtimes, and was always bright and friendly. She pulled Mariko out of her shyness and urged her to talk more.

As if one cue, someone knocked on the door.

And, simply because Etsuko said the name, it was an Uchiha. Mariko sort of recognized his face, the one that looked like Toka's student. It was the man from the interrogation room, and he was looking for Hashirama.

"Senju," he said briskly. "Coded message from Inuzuka Platoon One, sir."

"Thank you, I'll be right there." Hashirama stood and touched Mito's shoulder. Mariko watched the way he carefully guarded his expression at the Uchiha's conflicting forms addressing him – first brusquely as a Senju, and then suddenly, almost unwillingly, remembering his position.

His wife nodded, collecting his plate smoothly as he strode out the door after the dark-haired Uchiha. After Mito had cleaned the plates, Mariko turned and found Tobirama scowling with his arms crossed.

"I want to know how an Uchiha can simply waltz in here," he said darkly.

"Tobi," Mito said firmly, "you're always so negative when it comes to the Uchiha."

"They're bound to go crazy," Tobirama answered.

"They are _not_," Mito scoffed.

"This is coming from a woman that threatened the Uchiha clan leader with castration by hair pin," Tobirama deadpanned.

"He made me angry," Mito grumbled, dishes clattering in the sink. "_You_ face the same threat, dear brother-in-law."

Tobirama rolled his eyes, despite the fact that any man sitting in the room was now completely terrified out of his pants. Kell was trying to calmly sip his own drink, but his hand nearly slipped. Arata had gone paler than usual. Tobirama, who put on the best mask, offered Mariko a wan smile.

"You're all ridiculous," Mariko stated outright. Mito and Etsuko laughed at this.

"This girl's got it right," Etsuko chirped.

* * *

Hiruzen looked beyond startled when Mariko arrived at Tobirama's side to watch their training, and he babbled something incomprehensible before scuttling behind Homura's back. The bespectacled boy tipped his head at his teammate curiously, but did not question him. He knew, for a fact, that Hiruzen had obviously blundered in something or the other, and though he didn't know what it was, the monkey's reaction ever time was the same. Better to save some trouble by shielding the poor boy rather than watch him painfully try to apologize – or run.

"Saru, take this scroll," Tobirama said curtly, no introductions or friendly morning greetings. Instead, he pulled an enormous scroll from nowhere, and tossed it at the boy. Hiruzen, face still rather flushed, stumbled with the weight of it; he was practically the same size as the scroll. "Now, summon something."

"Wait, what?" Hiruzen, baffled, set the scroll on the ground and glanced between the paper and his sensei.

"Open it," commanded the white-haired Senju.

He opened it.

"Summon something. I know your father taught you how."

"But I summon an animal, this isn't a–"

"Saru." Tobirama glared. Startled, the boy kneeled before the now opened scroll hastily. To Mariko's surprise, he bit his thumb and drew some blood. She tugged Tobirama's sleeve and asked him what that was for.

"His blood is the contract with his summoning animal," the Senju explained.

"But doesn't he need some sort of special seal?" asked the blunette. Tobirama gestured to the scroll. Looking more closely, Mariko realized that there was a large blank spot in the middle, surrounded by detailed characters she didn't recognize. Otherwise, the place where Hiruzen was about to put his hand down was blank.

"He can draw his own seal, just watch. The scroll is actually for summoning more seals, but this works too."

This hardly made any sense to Mariko. Seals to summon more seals? Wouldn't that just give you more scrolls? She made a mental note to go ask Mito, their resident Fuuin jutsu expert, later on.

There was a puff, with the sound of a muffled explosion, as a black seal painted itself under Hiruzen's hand. He yelled out the name of his jutsu – something Mariko found ridiculous, because why would you shout out what you're doing in a real battle? – and a creature appeared. Curly-tailed and wearing matching trousers and a vest, a small monkey appeared on the scroll. It crossed its arms and wiggled its brown tail.

"Whazzat?" it slurred. "You again, Hir'zen?"

Hiruzen swore under his breath. "I was trying to summon Enma!"

"That's Enma-_sama_ to you, brat," spat the little chimp. It could not have been much bigger than Tenzou the cat.

"Good," Tobirama said curtly, breaking the argument. "Now, Saru, perform a–"

"Who ya callin' monkey?" asked the monkey. Tobirama raised a brow at the animal, while Mariko was still marveling over the fact that it could talk. "I swear, Hir'zen, you have to stop summoning me to these weird places."

"This is training!" wailed Hiruzen. "C'mon, work with me here!"

"Uh. Nope. I think I might go home…" the monkey trailed off, twirling its tail around a long finger. It promptly leapt onto Hiruzen's shoulders and crawled around the boy's head, picking through his hair curiously. "Hir'zen, why ya got burnt hair? Did you run into an angry Uchiha or somethin'?"

"It was a frying pan," Mariko blurted.

Everyone stared at her, including the monkey.

"Ooh, you've got pretty hair, I wanna see!" hooted the chimp, leaping from his contracted shinobi's back and towards the blunette. Tobirama quickly stepped forward, grabbed the monkey with one hand wrapped around its midsection, and tossed the poor thing back at Hiruzen.

"Saru, tell your summon not to touch people's hair," he said flatly. Hiruzen cowered when the monkey angrily pounded its fists on his head, wincing. Obviously, he was now continuing his connection between his sensei and the blunette standing behind him, and it was hurting his brain. Koharu scoffed and Homura tilted his head so that his glasses would stop sliding down his nose.

"Your training is _boring_," complained the brown monkey. His tail wrapped and unwrapped around Hiruzen's neck. "I'm leaving, Hir'zen."

Before the boy could grab the monkey – which wouldn't have helped him anyway – the summon disappeared in a cloud of smoke, the same way he'd come. Dismayed, the boy stared at the scroll dejectedly. He said something about using more chakra next time, but Tobirama stopped him.

"And that," the Senju announced, "is what we would call a summoning failure."

"Sensei, what was the point of that?" asked Homura quietly.

"To show you that if you do not work well with your summon – or your teammates, for that matter – all will fail, and someone will kill you."

"You're terrible, Sensei," Hiruzen pouted.

"I've been getting that a lot recently," Tobirama said thoughtfully, casting a meaningful glance towards Mariko. The blunette stalked over and poked his side angrily. Scowling, he flicked her fingers away, but she simply dodged to his other side and poked him in the abdomen. She corrected herself: she poked a rock, because he was so solid that she could not have inflicted damage upon him even if she tried her hardest. But it was a warm rock, which amused her, so she poked him again.

This finger jabbing match provoked some bewildered stares from the students, who openly gaped – well, Hiruzen gaped – at the two of them. Koharu's face had darkened, and Homura was mildly amused (though also rather confused). Hiruzen made a face, then flushed, then sidled behind his teammates again.

"Koharu, you wanna go to lunch?" he asked softly.

"No." Koharu didn't even look at him.

"Will you ask Biwako if she wants to go to lunch with me?"

"_No_."

"Ask yourself," Homura said quietly. "Besides that, is there a point to asking both Biwako and Koharu to lunch?"

"Um." Hiruzen laughed nervously. "Yes?"

He was obviously trying to distract himself from the ongoing poke battle a little ways away from them (as far as he knew, Mariko was winning; not that he was paying attention, of course). Koharu, however, was not at all amused, and simply wanted to train. So far, they'd seen Hiruzen fail at summoning a snarky monkey, and they hadn't even drawn a single kunai yet. She had a feeling that Tobirama would try to get Mariko to stand on water again, but at the current moment, the blunette was successfully annoying the tall Senju with her incessantly quick prodding.

"Sensei," she called over. Tobirama glanced up, then frowned when Mariko bumped her hip against his leg. Koharu could've sworn that he flushed, but he was pale and stoic as usual within a second, so she pushed it to her imagination. She didn't want to think about that, anyway. "Are we going to train, or not?"

"I was wondering that too," came a new voice, somewhat behind Tobirama, lounging on a lawn chair. Wearing something that looked nothing like it came from Konoha, a Hurricane top and a silk skirt traditional of the Hot Springs, a royal daughter with bright blue hair arched her brows at them. Gold hoops swung from her ears and her eyes were dabbed with skillfully lined makeup. She'd forsaken the time-consuming white pastels for regular eyeliner and mascara, but she looked stunning all the same.

"When did _you_ get here?" Mariko asked, her voice more acidic than she'd meant it to be. Sumiko hardly batted an eyelash, while everyone else practically had their eyes bulging out of their heads at the little blunette's sudden, uncharacteristic vehemence.

"I've been here for a while, haven't I?" mused Sumiko. "Right, Mr. Suave?"

Tobirama's face went expressionless, and he didn't answer.

"Mr. Suave, answer me this: Did you know that your little student over there, the girl–"

"ARE YOU TWO RELATED?" Homura shouted far too loudly. Now, it was his turn to be stared at, because Homura was never loud. He was sweating, slightly, and obviously nervous. Hiruzen clapped his teammate on the back, proud that the bespectacled genin had had a Hiruzen-like moment. Sumiko glanced from Homura to Koharu, then back to Tobirama. A small realization dawned on her, and then she winked slowly at the two children. Hiruzen remained in the dark.

"We _are_ related," confirmed Sumiko, completely agreeing to the change of topic. The other blunette and her fiancé stared incredulously at the First Princess. "I'm her older sister. I live in the Hot Springs."

"Hot Springs…do you have a lot of hot springs?" asked Hiruzen. He seriously pondered this.

"You could say that," Sumiko agreed. "Besides that, Mr. Suave, Mito told me to find you so that you could show me the way to the interrogation rooms?"

"Why would you want to go there?" interrupted Hiruzen. He now completely ignored poor Homura, who had shrunk behind Koharu, for he feared for his life. Koharu was a little bit enraged, now holding a personal grudge against both Hurricane princesses, but rather soothed by the fact that Homura had done her a subtle favor. (Well, subtle in reasoning, but not in tactic.)

"Stuff," said Sumiko, shrugging. And so, Tobirama abandoned his eternally waiting team to escort the princess in five-inch heels to the Torture and Interrogation Department. The three of Team Tobirama plopped down in a circle on the training grounds, opened their lunches, and waited. They knew for a fact that Tobirama would eventually escape, because he always did, and when he slipped away from the blunettes, they would catch him and force him to train them. Willing or not.

* * *

"Inuzuka Platoon Two has returned," said the same Uchiha. "They've information on the black market dealings at the closest mail station, and also some evidence as to tampered mail procedures."

"I see," said Hashirama. "Bring in the leader of the bandits."

Mariko elbowed Tobirama, hard.

"I thought you said nothing happened," she hissed.

"That was to make you fall asleep," he murmured, shoving her elbow away when she tried hitting him again. When she circled around to elbow him insistently on the other side, his face bent into his traditional scowl and he grabbed her hands. "You do _not_ act your age, did you know that?"

"So?" she retorted tartly.

"Ghost boy, she'll _never_ act her age," Sumiko called over lightly, rolling her eyes. "She'll be thirty and still be like this."

Tobirama shot Mariko an expressive glare, so she obstinately grabbed the sash to his shirt and untied it. He swore under his breath and readjusted his belt, before snatching her hands again and placing them behind her back.

The leader of the bandits was more nervous than the archers, and also more compliant. He blabbered away at how he was only meant to deliver mail, among a few other useless things that they didn't need to know. Mariko wasn't sure why he divulged that the Tsuchikage's son was an outrageous flirt, or why he told them that the next-in-line for the Mizukage title had a penchant for Uzushiogakure wine.

"I already knew that," Sumiko muttered. "That's why the Uzumaki and the Hozuki come to Hurricane together."

"That's _so_ useful," snapped Mariko.

"Well, it helps to know that you can get him drunk," Sumiko returned.

"_Why_ would you do that?" Mariko asked incredulously.

Sumiko shrugged. "Play pranks. Katsurou used to do it."

At the mention of their brother, they went silent. The bandit continued on to tell them a couple more uninteresting facts, among them a few of the things he'd sold to Konoha, and then finally, _finally_, some useful information. They found the name of their Takigakure dealer: Kakuzu.

"Just the sound of his name is ugly," Sumiko commented.

Almost frantically, the bandit practically cried when he described Kakuzu's abilities. Apparently, this was a man whose body could mysteriously hold more than one heart. After that, he became so engrossed in confusing details that hardly anyone understood him. Even the Hokage was perplexed at the description, especially when the bandit kept muttering about threads and masks.

"Anything of Katsurou?" Sumiko asked, loud enough so Hashirama could hear across the room. The Hokage shook his head, and Sumiko pushed out the door.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_There are many versions to the Emerald Eagle story. Some say that the Wolf ate the children, and he ate the king's wife, while others say that he cursed them with some fatal flaw that is unknown to this day. Still others insist that rather than being shot, the Emerald Eagle had fallen as a star from the sky, its impact uncovering the emeralds on the island. Its descent through the atmosphere had burnt its star-white feathers charcoal, and his first glimpses of earth were of the precious stones he'd uncovered, forever dying his eyes green. _

_However, his body was not able to survive the conditions of this world, and began withering away as soon as he hit the ground. Upon this impact, he happened upon the young blue-haired prince, and had tried to ask the boy directions. Frightened, the boy had started running, and happened to run into the evil devil of Hurricane. The Wolf tried eating the boy, but the Eagle saved him. Indebted to the Eagle, the story went so that the boy hosted the Eagle's spirit, a human vessel capable of sustaining life in this world. The Eagle, who had arrived in search of the one thing plaguing his own world — he hadn't come from outer space, but from a different dimension all together — sought the death of the Wolf. The rest of the story plays out similarly, where the Eagle's mission fails, and the boy's family dies._

_However, the most commonly told story has the boy with his bow, but also with a twist to the ending:_

_The birth of a river horse, the mount of the struggling king made from sheer willpower in order to reach the capital and save his family from the clutches of the wolf. A horse — born from river stones — destined to stay on the island, forbidden to leave Hurricane._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"You're so tiny," Tobirama commented, flipping through Mariko's old photo album. "How old are you here, four?"

"Seven."

Tobirama scoffed. "Doesn't look like it." He turned the page, and studied a picture of Mariko tilted precariously in the saddle of a stout pony. He chuckled at the next photo, which had Mariko and her too-large helmet, clinging onto the pony's back as it hobbled over a teeny jump.

"Don't laugh," she snapped.

"I can't help it," he said simply, shrugging. "How old are you here?"

"Twelve."

"You look like you're eight," he answered. Mariko threatened to shove him off her bed, the guest room bed that was nowhere near as fluffy as his, but would certainly do for now. The Senju simply wiggled himself deeper into her covers, looking absolutely ridiculous as he tugged the covers up to his chest and slowly browsed the pages.

Mariko harrumphed and sat herself next to him, leaning over his shoulder to look at her own pictures. Casually, Tobirama eventually slung an arm around her waist, but otherwise didn't move a muscle. The blunette suddenly found the ceiling patterns overly interesting, tracing the shadows that ran from the windows and the shades. She didn't notice Tobirama rummage nosily through one of her bags and pull out a few more items.

An old flower book, lined with pressed and dried hibiscus blooms, carefully preserved. The crinkle of the aged pages and careful plastic linings alerted Mariko that the Senju was no longer leafing through her photo albums. Her head whipped around and she saw that he was fingering the flowers curiously. Garnet eyes flickered her way, then back to the page, waiting for her to speak.

Mariko was tempted to pull it from his hands and clutch it to her chest, for she wished not to think of her Aunt Tari, wherever she may be. What if Aunt Tari was dead? No, Mariko refused to peruse that thought at the moment. But there was her collection, practically a novel of flowers, more than just the many varieties of hibiscus. It spine was worn, and repaired many times. The pages were yellowed, though the flowers remained spectacularly bright. However, upon closer inspection, one could see the brittleness of the stems and petals. A single touch to its actual surface would send the flower crumbling, forever dissipated.

Tobirama touched a sapphire blue one, hues deviating through its once-lush petals. Mariko feared, suddenly, that his finger would slip through the plastic laminate, and her favorite blue hibiscus would disintegrate before her eyes. She reached for the book.

"What's this, Shorty?" Tobirama asked, holding it slightly out of her arm's reach. Panicked, she lunged for it now. He held it even higher, up and away from her, inspecting it in the afternoon light. After a few moments, he glanced at her hands, which were clenched tightly around the coverlets, and then returned the book to her. Mariko took it gratefully. "If you don't want me to touch something, say so," he told her flatly. Guiltily, Mariko silently clutched the book to her chest and scooted away from him.

But he'd picked up something else:

An emerald necklace.

Just a single jewel at the end of a gleaming silver chain, one once worn by Queen Manami of Hurricane. Given to her by her aunt. One woman, she would never see again, and the other, she couldn't be sure. Of all the things he had to do, it had to be going through her things? These were items she kept close so that she had the memories by her heart, warmed, comforted, but they were not things to discuss, for they hurt out loud. Mariko was now surging with alarming thoughts, ranging from her mother dying and turning into Katsurou and Aunt Tari and—

She snatched the necklace, and to avoid breaking it, Tobirama immediately let go. But the blunette had grabbed the article of jewelry so violently that he was staring at her, shocked.

"Don't touch my stuff anymore," she said quietly, not looking at him. Tobirama pushed the covers off his chest, picked up her photo album, and dropped it before her. She wasn't sure if he was sarcastically making a point by touching her things, or if he was just returning it to her. His hand brushed her knee, and it was cold.

He stood.

"Training Grounds 5, if I'm needed." Briskly, he strode to the door and slipped through, closing it quietly behind him.

Bewildered and puzzled, Mariko stared after him.

Had she angered him? She was just confused, very confused. And so, in this dazed manner, head whirling with images of Katsurou dead and Aunt Tari on her deathbed, and her mother lying prone in her coffin, Mariko stumbled outside. She automatically made her way to the stables, hoping to pass Tobirama in the process. But he was already gone, and she could not explain her reasons for her unexplained harshness. She had not meant to relapse into her antisocial closed doors; she thought she'd adjusted to Konoha. There were far too many things that contributed to this, things that she could not factor into a simple equation and produce an answer.

The blunette found Yodel, who quietly munched on his hay, lifting his nose to greet her. In addition to the trusty bay gelding, a second visitor. Eyes wrapped and arms casually leaning on another horse's stall door, Izuna stood a ways down from her.

"Hello," he greeted cheerfully, offering a smile in her direction. "How are you?"

"I'm…okay, thanks," Mariko sighed, peering over at the horse he was observing. She noticed that it was a larger stall, and realized that he was not observing, of course, but rather listening to the two animals inside. One was a pretty paint mare, and the other was her foal, an equally paint-splotched colt. The overo baby had a splash of white on his rump that Mariko rather liked, for it was a little island separated from a mainland pool of white a ways away on his stomach. Most of him was a deep brown, a mahogany sea.

"You're upset," Izuna commented. As always, his senses were sharp, his perception capable of reading people simply with their presence.

"I'm working it out," Mariko told him. "Instead of me, how about you?"

"I'm well." Izuna ran a hand through his long hair, which he'd left untied today. Mariko noticed that one of his fingers bore a round ring, its top holding a small stone with a character on it.

"Is that a new ring?" she asked.

"Yes, it is," Izuna confirmed. "My brother gave it to me just the other day. He said it would bring me power and protection, so of course I took it." Izuna offered a mild smile. "He's got ten of them, though. I find it kind of funny. They all have different little symbols, he says, one for each finger."

"That's interesting," Mariko commented. "Do you feel empowered?"

A smile from the Uchiha, and then the shake of his head, subtly. "No more so than usual."

"How long have you been here?" asked the princess, changing the topic.

"About half an hour," Izuna replied. "I was going to bring Yodel a bran mash, but I couldn't find any apples to put in…he likes apples."

Mariko incredulously wondered how the blind man could possibly make a meal for the horse if he couldn't see a thing. But Izuna gestured to a bucket beside him, filled with grains and other horsey foods suitable for making a warm bran mash, with a bag of carrots beside it but no apples. Mariko knew that horses would like the treat with or without apples, but she supposed that she should help find them anyway.

"There's a bag in here somewhere," she said, striding to the tack room and fishing through a few boxes. She found a bag of fresh apples behind a few other sacks of horse feed, and pulled it out. Izuna seemed to sense — or whatever it was that he did — the bag in her hands, and smiled.

"Thank you. Now, I need—"

"I'll help you," Mariko offered, hoisting the apples, carrots, and bucket in her arms. She found that the bucket was heavier than she'd expected, what with the other things in her arms, and nearly dropped it. Conveniently, Arata rounded the corner and found them there.

"Is that bran mash?" he called exuberantly. "Let me help you with that."

He gracefully scooped up the bucket from her arms, handing Izuna the bag of apples. Mariko now felt completely and utterly useless, with only a plastic bag filled with a few carrots in her hands.

"Thank you," Izuna said, offering Arata a kind smile. Arata nodded; it seemed that he and Izuna had been on good terms before, and used to be riding partners. Arata once told Mariko that Izuna had been "that Uchiha hunter" who could out-leap him in the plains, back in the day. Mariko wasn't quite sure how long ago "back in the day" was, because neither of the two were very old.

"No problem," Arata chirped, extremely cheerful today. "Here, do you have enough molasses?"

"Well, I was about to look for it."

"And here I was, thinking you had everything," Arata replied, winking at Mariko. "You've got the bran and the supplements, right?"

"He's got creaky hocks," was Izuna's answer. "He only eats it in bran."

"Are you sure you put the right supplement in, then?"

Izuna held up a small container and let the dark-haired Senju see it. Approving, Arata finished his inspection of the now super-important bran mash. The three set to pouring in hot water and mixing the grains, dicing carrots and apples and creating a nice bran mash.

"You don't feed this often, do you?" Arata said.

"Of course not," Izuna said. "It's so that he takes the supplement."

"Good," Arata approved. He began off on a long list of things that bran mash was uneven in, random nutrients that were unbalanced in this feed, horse's diets, among other things that the two others completely understood, while someone like Tobirama would not. It was like talking to Mariko about ninjutsu. "Lady Princess," Arata suddenly said. "I believe Kell is at the gate again."

"How do you know this?" Mariko asked, heading towards the door. She believed that people had the ability to sense emotions, intentions, presences — or even send them, perhaps — but this shinobi perception had an incredibly wide range. How could Arata, standing at the back of the barn, tell that there was a man waiting outside the front?

"Magic," replied Arata, to which Mariko frowned slightly. At the moment, it wasn't the type of answer she wanted to hear.

"You should go," Izuna urged. Again, Mariko wasn't in the mood to be rushed. Nonetheless, she trudged outside and found Kell pacing the path again.

"I got another piece of mail," the young man said simply, his large rounded glasses making his eyes look huge.

"When?" demanded Mariko. "From where?!"

But Kell didn't answer, only shoved the envelope at her.

"I think it's encoded again," he said. Then, he glanced around nervously. "Hurry, I'm not sure when they'll find out."

"Find out what?"

"Just read it!"

Kell was right — the message was in cipher. A thinner lock of Katsurou's hair had been included, and the envelope was littered with messages. The clearest ones included:

_Takigakure underground police._

_Five hearts Kekkei Genkai._

And lastly, _Get Ryo, Mist. Second._— once more, Mariko could not decipher the rest of it. She doubted that the part after the call for Ryouichi was correctly translated either.

"Have you showed this to—"

"Hurry," Kell cut her off, grabbing her arm and running towards the complex exit. "We'll get there before they can get us."

Then they were sprinting towards the Hokage Tower, Mariko out of breath. She thought they were going to suddenly take flight and fly up to the windows of Hashirama's office, but instead, Kell actually veered away. He began down the main road, then branched off the side, southeast.

"They saw me," Kell hissed, pulling her faster. "Hurry, there's one more place we can stop first, they wouldn't think of it."

Then there was a big, black bird flying next to them. Mariko thought she was hallucinating, and the Emerald Eagle was gliding alongside her, wings outstretched and eyes gleaming. But she caught a glimpse of those eyes, and they were black, emotionless. It was a black hawk, its talons dipping down for the envelope. Kell hurriedly read the clan symbol on the bird's leg, and released the envelope. The bird soared away.

"Hey!" exclaimed Mariko, nearly spinning to a stop. Kell pulled her along.

"_Hurry_, Etsuko's buying us time!" Kell exclaimed. She was tugged along until a tall man on her right side snatched her up like a sack of potatoes and leapt up into the trees. Everything was a blur; was she being kidnapped?

No, Kell appeared before her after a few moments of tree-hopping, being hoisted by a dark-haired man; the interrogator. The person carrying her dropped her in front of Kell, then shouted for the gates to close. Mariko looked up and found herself staring at the Uchiha clan leader, a man whose eyes were impossibly keen, burning holes in all that he saw. He was tall and dark, with a mane wilder than a lion's.

"My apologies, Uchiha-sama," Kell panted. "Etsuko is—"

"Enough." Kell was waved off brusquely. "Izuna. Collect this girl and call Hashirama. Boy, grab that bow and arrow and set yourself beside those three men." Madara, tall and fearsome, commanding his brother and Arata to their posts. Mariko was both amazed, but then suddenly overwhelmed. Since when were Arata and Izuna here? Hadn't they been in the stables?

She sat, dazed, where Izuna guided her to a chair. It was a nice chair, a porch swing that was padded with gaudy green and white striped cushions, but comfortable all the same. It had a small, evergreen awning, unnecessary but a nice touch. Mariko swung back and forth absently, accepting the cup of tea that a boy offered her. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be Toka's student. She'd forgotten his name again.

"Hello Lady Princess," the boy chirped. "I'm Kagami, if you've forgotten."

That was quite embarrassing. Mariko offered a smile, though.

"Thank you, Kagami," she said quietly.

"Anything else you'd like? I can—" Kagami paused to push a younger child off his leg, "—get you anything. Seriously, Hansha, get _off_ me!"

The child tumbled from Kagami's leg, and cried something about his nii-chan being mean to him. Kagami, exasperated, scooped the child up and brushed the hair away from her face. "Seriously," muttered Kagami again. "Be good for once, will you?"

Hansha sniffled; she dribbled on her oversized shirt that seemed to be Kagami's.

"Nii-chan, I want cake," she cried.

"Fine, I'll get you cake," sighed Kagami. "Lady Princess, this is my little sister, Hansha."

Mariko thought it amusing that one child should be named _mirror_ and the other _reflection_. It suited them quite well.

"Kagami, can you tell me why I'm here?" Mariko suddenly inquired. The boy shrugged, struggling to keep his sister from patting his head and grabbing his hair painfully.

"I have no idea, Lady Princess. Izuna-sama might know."

Of course, Izuna would. Mariko looked around for him as Kagami left, but the effort proved to be futile because now the Uchiha were shouting and someone was barging through the gates. Several of the men stationed at the main entrance turned their weapons on the intruder, one of them threatening to lob off heads.

"Idiots, let him through!" spat Madara, running a gloved hand through his hair and glaring. "Senju, I want you off my property as soon as possible," he added, contradicting himself.

"I don't want to be here anyway," replied the man. Mariko wondered how in the world the gatemen had not recognized him, for he had bright white hair and red eyes, wore blue armor and had arrived practically on a river. "I come in the place of my brother."

"I didn't call for _you_," Madara retorted, rather tiredly. "Tell mop-head that he'll gain weight sitting in that desk of his all day."

"I will," Tobirama answered curtly. The two exchanged red glares before Madara continued his stalk towards the now cowering guards and Tobirama yelled for Kagami. The boy trotted out and saluted eagerly, before spooking and straightening when Madara glanced back at him. "Where's my—"

"Over there!" Kagami pointed at the back of his house. Tobirama peered around, where the blunette was calmly sipping her tea nonchalantly, trying to figure out if he'd just called her his. Mariko felt a strong urge to stand up and wrap her arms around his cold blue armor, but refrained from doing so. She supposed it was the need to have someone solid to hold onto, because she had no clue what sort of mess she'd just waltzed into. Then again, Mariko didn't think that if Izuna, or Hashirama, or Arata, or even Katsurou could have stabilized her as Tobirama would. So she kicked her mental restraints away and went with her gut feeling.

As soon as Tobirama was within reach, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him. She didn't care that his armor was hard and cold, she didn't care that because of that stupid blue armor she couldn't reach all the way around him.

He lifted his arms and peered down at her, taken by surprise. Mariko grumpily told him that his armor was not very comfortable.

"I think it fits quite well," he rumbled simply.

"It's not a good pillow," she complained.

"I can't imagine why," he replied sardonically, rolling his eyes before shooting a curious Kagami a look that told him to shoo.

"Sorry," Mariko murmured. It seemed she was telling him she was sorry, but she never received an answer. Tobirama was still, the clink of his armor and a few arguments among the Uchiha the only noises heard. Then, a hand on her head, sliding down to the nape of her neck and resting just above her shoulders.

"Shorty, sit back down. Do you know where Arata is?" Of course, no verbal response to her apology. Mariko wondered if she should stop apologizing. Actually, she wondered a lot of things. She had enough questions to drive all of Konoha insane. It didn't help matters that when an arrow came flying past the gate and an Uchiha idiotically sent a fireball at it, Mariko was still half clinging to the Senju, hands gripped around the loose fabric of his trousers.

Tobirama, without even turning, produced a wall of water that stopped the flaming ball-arrow in its path. He looked over his shoulder at the Uchiha, who scrambled back to his place, embarrassed.

"I thought Uchiha were elite," he called out to no one in particular.

"We have bad eyesight," deadpanned Izuna two houses down. He was tapping a code with a pen onto a piece of paper, with Arata telling him the message. Again, Mariko questioned if the blind man was really blind. He managed sightlessness well, but this was beyond being blind and needing a walking stick and raised letters. Izuna practically lived like a regular person with full vision. "I don't think he could see that white head of yours, Tobirama."

"Izuna, please," said Arata, fingers twitching his impatience. It seemed the message was important. Izuna finished the letter and attached it to the leg of a black hawk. Arata had probably urged him to finish because he'd read the clear, irked expression on Tobirama's face.

"Where's Kell?" Mariko asked. "Why are you here? Why is everyone here? What about—"

"Quiet, Shorty. I'll let you know later."

At that moment, Hansha wobbled over to them and offered a few flowers. She whispered loudly to Tobirama, "Please give this to the princess for me. I wanna be a princess too."

Tobirama accepted the little bouquet of three wildflowers and grandly swept down onto his knee, holding them out to Mariko.

"Lady Princess, a bouquet for you," he said, his voice deep and reverberating through her ears. It was as if they were in a grand stadium, and he was proposing to her.

"Thank you," she said lightly, accepting the flowers. Holding them to her nose for little Hansha to see, Mariko smiled. The young Uchiha girl gestured to Tobirama again, and the tall man bent down. Mariko almost wished she wasn't seeing his softness with children (Uchiha or not), because it warmed her heart and stoked feelings that were also confusing her again.

"Lady Princess, Miss Hansha would like you to know that there is freshly baked bread and jam inside, if you would like some." He smiled, almost sweetly, to the point where she wanted to wipe it off his face. This led to a deep contemplation of how she would take it off his face, and watching his lips was not helping. In fact, it would probably increase that gentlemanly smile, one that had subtle undertones of an amused smirk.

"Thank you Miss Hansha," Mariko replied. "I'll take you up on that offer in a little bit."

Grinning, Kagami's little sister bounded away in her billowing shirt, her brother's tee turned into a long, navy dress.

Still on his knees, Tobirama leaned forward and put his hands on either sides of her. He didn't seem to realize he was pushing on a swing, because when the entire seat swung away from him, he fell forward. Mariko yelped as he collapsed onto her, his face hitting her chest and stomach as his elbows hit the edge of the seat and nearly unseated her.

"Thanks for the pillow, Shorty," he said, muffled by her shirt. Tobirama appeared to decide that her chest was a comfortable stay, and did not move except to allow the seat to slide back into its original position. His hunched shoulders indicated that he was not overly fond of that slip-up with the swing, but was not at all bothered by his current position. Mariko, on the other hand, was watching a white head and ignoring the strong arms that were wrapping around her waist and the silly blue armor that was digging into her and pressing her knees.

Tobirama turned his face up to look at her, chin resting on a spot that she found immensely awkward.

"_What_ are you doing?" she asked. Tobirama pulled back and stood, brushing himself off and clearing his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly before eyeing the Uchiha that had been stealing glances at the two of them. "Did you know that that armor is stupid?"

At this, he made a face.

"I'm serious, it's too hard."

He scoffed. _That's the point, Shorty_, said the roll of his eyes.

"How do you even bend over?"

He bent over, and she cursed herself again, because now it brought them face to face, and her preoccupation with his mouth was frustrating beyond belief. He was tantalizingly close; in fact, he seemed to be taunting her. She nearly grabbed his fur collar and pulled him to her when he brushed his lips gently against hers, prior to pulling away and straightening. He folded his arms in an attempt to look stoic and official (at least, somewhat less mushy than a man far too obviously in love).

Kagami giggled somewhere, and they knew it was him for his giggle was practically a snort, a guffaw, and a cough combined. Hansha was also at his side, smiling boldly at the two of them. Mariko suddenly felt like they'd gone through a very awkward, watched scene. Besides, shouldn't she have been harping on about the situation? Where _was_ Kell, anyway?

Her question was answered when Etsuko came in whooping, galloping on that one white mare and riding double with Kell behind her. Mariko thought back. Kell had been with her when she'd entered. After that, she didn't quite remember. She was now trying to figure out how in the world people were travelling so quickly and disappearing without her knowing it.

"I've got it!" shouted Etsuko. She threw a scroll at one of the Uchiha, the clumsy one who'd shot a fireball at Mariko and Tobirama. He fumbled with it, before Izuna calmly plucked it from his fingers and unrolled it. He stared at it for a total of two seconds, then held it out — _read it_, came his silent command.

"East Hyuuga, branch house," read another Uchiha. "North Inuzuka river, Training Grounds Two."

"How many?" asked Izuna.

"It looks like fifteen," replied the clan mate.

"Fifteen _more_?" Kell asked incredulously. "I read five."

"Nope, fifteen," replied the Uchiha.

"Plus the fourteen we already have," replied Arata, abandoning his post. "The three first archers and seven of the next few archers, and all the bandits have escaped."

"No, no, that doesn't make any sense," Izuna retorted. "We've got eight bandits, plus seven more that escaped our light cells, making the fifteen loose in the village."

"Right, then three archers and eleven…more archers?"

"Yes."

"But Odzalaigh doesn't count, he's on our side," reasoned Arata.

"He's already in a different department, then. So two initial archers, eleven secondary archers, and fifteen bandits." Izuna counted off his fingers.

"With annoying sleep darts," Tobirama added from the porch. They all turned to him, and some of them glanced at Mariko, who was still holding onto his leg, and then started conversing all at once. Izuna called for silence, but no one listened. A smart bandit took that chance to string another boy and have it whiz past the group.

Tobirama easily caught the thin shaft in his hand and snapped it in two, the wood splintering between his fingers.

"Are they _all_ archers?" cried Kell.

"No, these new ones are. The seven original ones can only throw kunai, shuriken, and set traps. And darts." Tobirama dropped the ruin arrow on the ground, turning back to Mariko. "Shorty, stand up."

Mariko stood. She held down a startled noise that would have sounded awfully similar to a kitten mewling in terror as Tobirama slipped an arm around her back and under her knees, picking her up bridal style. Being tilted backwards and hoisted into the air was not her idea of fun. Then again, this was not about fun at the moment.

"Where are you going?" demanded Arata, as Tobirama made for the door.

"Back to the Senju," replied Tobirama, brushing past him.

"No, stay here," Arata said firmly, brows creased into a frown.

Tobirama did not take heed of Arata's order, and stepped past the Uchiha guards. One of them tried blocking his way, but Tobirama forcefully pushed past him. Mariko wrapped her arms around his neck, comforted by his scent and warmth.

"Tobirama!" shouted Arata. "Get back here!"

Tobirama whipped round then, and Mariko clung to him like a burr. He glared, and a few men stepped back. However, their captains immediately pushed them forward harshly, demanding that they show Uchiha pride correctly. Tobirama put Mariko down for the moment and stalked up to Arata, gripping his shirt.

"You know I hate them," he hissed at the dark-haired Senju. "You _know_ how much I am withholding myself every time they are near." He let go of Arata with a shove. "I've seen Hashirama hit enough times to know that working with them is pointless. If you're going to hold me back now, I may as well have a shuriken in my back."

"Shut up, Tobirama," spat Arata. "You only think of yourself."

Everyone stilled, watching to see if either Senju would lift a hand. The two men stood firm, Arata glaring at the taller albino. Tobirama was livid; he was about to snap.

"They're no different than us, Tobirama," Arata said, quieter now. "They know the same amount of death as we do. This has nothing to do with that."

"This is not about that anymore," Tobirama replied.

"Then what is this about? Itama?"

Tobirama punched Arata across the face, so hard that the shorter man flew to the side and landed in a heap, clutching his nose. Mariko gasped, horrified. Tobirama was always prone to mood swings, and it seemed that his overall hue at the moment was dark, cloudy and angry. But hitting Arata was completely unnecessary. Mariko stepped up, but a soft hand touched her shoulder.

She glanced back, and Izuna shook his head at her.

Tobirama turned on them.

"Get your hands off her, Uchiha," he shouted viciously. Izuna immediately backed away; he was wise enough to know when to let an angry Senju cool off on his own. Arata had picked himself up now, still holding his nose.

"Stop it!" exclaimed Mariko, when Tobirama reached for her. Surprised, he shot her a hurt expression. "Why'd you hit him?! What are you doing?! Why are you suddenly being so…so awful?!"

Then, confused and horrified, Mariko shot out the gate before anyone could say a word. She hadn't thought of the dangers outside, but at the same time, she had no idea what the situation was anyway. But she ran, her feet pounding relentlessly on the gravel path, with no inclination as to where she was going. There were shouts, when the group finally reacted, but by then, she'd already skittered around a few turns and was lost in the streets.

It was upon seeing a bright flash of an explosive tag in front of her that she realized that there were shinobi coming for her. And they were not Uchiha or Senju, or even Kell. A man lunged for her, kunai in hand. Mariko stumbled backwards, and the man was quick. A few men wielding swords and two more with arrows notched at close range quickly surrounded her.

Mariko must've screamed for Tobirama, but she didn't quite remember, because the first man with the sharpened dagger had given the order to shoot.

_I'm going to die_.

The arrow flew, whizzing in the air sharply. Mariko held her hands over her head, fingers gripping her blue hair, and cringed. Just before she closed her eyes, another arrow launched into her sight.

It intercepted the first arrow and expertly pinned it to the ground.

In a matter of seconds, every single bandit surrounding her was shot down with a single arrow to each of their chests. Mariko, still cowering, could not tell where these life-saving shots had come from. She had no time to think anyway, because the archer himself had appeared, dressed from head to toe in camouflaged attire, his face smeared with dried blood and his hands gripped around his bow.

It was a lovely bow, Mariko thought vaguely. It was the only thing she could think, because she was already sure she was about to die at the hands of this archer.

When the man lunged for her, she shrieked, and he tackled her to the ground.

A gigantic shuriken flew above them, where she would have been had she been standing there at the moment. The man gripped her by the shoulders and shook her a few times. He murmured something in her ear and her eyes widened – but she hadn't replied before he lifted his bow again.

A stunningly easy shot took down another enemy shinobi, and two more dealt with his comrades. He drew the beautiful bow with practiced ease, pulling back a string that most men could not have. The arch of the weapon fit him perfectly, as if it was a part of his body, a natural limb.

Covered completely, with a scarf wrapped around his face, she'd only glimpsed a portion of his face. But that was not what Mariko focused on. Tobirama appeared around the corner, Arata behind him – his nose oddly bent – and Kell still after. Etsuko leapt onto the scene in full battle armor, her hitai-ate gleaming proudly in the afternoon light.

Tobirama was enraged, looking as if he'd murder the whole lot, friend or enemy. A few bandits fled the scene, and he lifted his arm to take care of them, but was intercepted. Four arrows pierced their hearts, fired from the masked archer. He stood, then, and held out a hand for Mariko to stay. He paused a moment, to make sure that she followed his signal. Mariko thought that it was quite unnecessary, for she would have obeyed him even if he told them all to leap off a cliff together. She would have trusted him, completely.

Tobirama threatened to take down the man, but Mariko shook her head when he cast them a suspicious glance. Three simple words and one deciding trait had told her who this man was. No, it was the way he gracefully slid his arrows into place, drawing them rapidly from his quiver, gliding a smooth pivot to take out all the enemies prowling through the trees. A shot that could not be matched, and the sleek white birch arrows lined with owl feathers for silent flight; items that she recognized.

_Fly, Eagle_, he'd said to her.

And his eyes were green.

* * *

Always updated: Behold, mention of Itama!

Last minute addition, but hey! It fit well.

**Microsoft Word page count: **_168._


	11. Battles

WHOA. So busy. Finally, an update! Things go wild! This chapter is super long since you've all been so patient. It contains:

_1. Torture for people who want sexy things. (evil laugh here)_

_2. I suck at battle scenes (cue everyone's friendly laugh?)_

_3. PLOT NO JUTSU?!_

_4. Plot no Jutsu should've explained it all to you..._

_5. Oreo Senju_

_6. Shameless Psycho-Pass references (simply names, yeah? Though I turned Akane into a Senju, -grin-)_

_7. Kakashi's possible great-uncle's friend's niece's brother from the Hatake Clan?_

_8. Hopelessly confused Mariko (she always seems to be confused. If I'm confused, I type her confused. XD)_

_9. The awesomeness of Hashirama and Mito._

_10. Cav Alato annoying you with this list. (another evil laugh, Hidan style)_

_11. DUN DUN DUNNNN more plot no jutsu! An effort at imitating Kishi troll! (not really)_

(Also, Takeshi! Who's Takeshi? Find him on my deviantART account...he's super adorable and has a terrible color palette. You want to know what it is? No? I'll tell you anyway: He's got blue hair and red eyes.)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto, because there should be a chapter out this week...and there's not. That, and lil' Tobirama is so badass.

Random notes: ROGUE FROM THE FUTURE! MMMM ~ and PSYCHO PASS ULTIMATE TROLLING, GINOZA AND MASAOKA NOOOO. The end.

* * *

**Chapter 11: ****Battles**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "See that bird?"_

_ "Yeah."_

_ "I bet you I can hit it with one try."_

_ "I believe it."_

_ "Let's see, the wind's light today…"_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

He sat with ease on his horse, the black stallion that pranced lightly beneath the reins. He didn't even need to hold the horse – he simply sat, drew his bow, and aimed. The animal cantered smoothly down the path as the boy eyed the target.

A marvelous shot, as if he'd simply been yawning, and the arrow hit its mark dead on. A smatter of applause rounded from behind the boy and the horse.

"He's excellent," said Uncle Swirl, cheerfully clapping King Hiroto on the shoulder. "Have you considered trying a competition on the mainland?"

"Competition?" echoed the King thoughtfully. "Perhaps."

"The horse," commented another man, this one a dark-skinned officer from Lightning's Coast Guard, "is splendid. See how he shifts at the boy's leg? There, he hardly touched him with a stirrup."

It was true – Katsurou's horse was sensitive and well-trained. He was a fine stallion, one that adored the boy astride him for his gentle hands and firm leg. He naturally knew the rules of the hunt.

"A little big for the boy, I suppose," the man continued. "But he'll be a wonderful match when your boy grows up."

"A good match," agreed Uncle Swirl. He then turned, because he'd known that two girls had been crowded behind the barn doors, watching them. One appeared to be a little girl that belonged on her mother's lap, but was, in fact, a good nine years old. The other was striking and long-legged, Sumiko in all her fourteen-year-old glory. "You two, come on over and tell us what you think of your brother."

Mariko was too shy to say anything, though Uncle Swirl patted her hair gently. Sumiko dryly commented that Katsurou did not keep his stirrups on the balls of his feet.

"Lightning, child," laughed the officer. "That's a bit too picky, is it not?"

"Not when our entire armed forces are mounted," Sumiko quipped. Hiroto shot her a glance that indicated that she should stop her tartness towards this officer, an important man that was here to help them with their own Coast Guard.

"Hey, Father!" called Katsurou. "Do you think I can hit that old goose over there?"

It wasn't simply an old goose a ways away, it was a strong bird, with coarse and dense feathers, swiftly swooping through the air.

"Let's see it, boy!" called Uncle Swirl when Hiroto simply nodded.

Katsurou spurred his horse forward; the stallion leapt into an eager lope. They circled the small clearing halfway, before Katsurou gracefully notched at arrow to his bow, so quickly that none of them had seen him draw from his quiver. White birch notched to a fine elm bow and fletched with soft, gray owl feathers for silent flight. A simple shift of weight slowed the black horse to an impossibly smooth trot, and then the silent release of the bowstring, snapping it back into place.

The goose fell, struck midflight, and toppled to the earth.

By then, it was easy to memorize Katsurou's movement – he simply stretched and circled, and the shot was fired. Watching from the spectator area, Mariko leaned towards the idea that her older brother could shoot anything – even the sun.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "Why are some of these pictures torn?"_

_ "Well, Shorty, why are you short?"_

_ "That wasn't funny. Seriously, tell me why someone's been ripped out of these pictures."_

_ "Because he's not here anymore."_

_ "Is that why you were sad?"_

_ "Maybe."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Drop the bow!" yelled Arata, pulling a fearsome blade from its sheath. The masked man did as he was told, but he crouched down beside the blunette and asked how she was. Breathlessly, she told him she was perfectly fine, before touching his shoulder gently. The clothing he wore was unfamiliar, some strange animal hide covered in earth-colored paints. He was like an old hunter, living off the land.

He held his hands up then, when a few Uchiha notched their own bows.

"Stand down," Tobirama called tiredly. He waved the Uchiha off, though they glared at him menacingly. The Senju didn't heed their swirling Sharingan stares, only stalked up to Mariko and the circle of fallen bandits. Etsuko was seen running after her cousin, but Kell caught her arm and told her something quickly. She stopped. "Well, well, the man we are looking for shows up on our doorstep."

"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong man," said the figure in the mask. There was a twinkle in his green eyes, indicating an unseen smile. "Though I must say, you owe me one now."

"I owe you nothing," Tobirama answered flatly. "If you would, Shorty."

Mariko stood up and glanced between the two men. Then, as if nothing at all had just occurred and this was all just a friendly meeting, she poked both of them in the side. Both men made faces at her.

Katsurou pulled off his hood, revealing his head of messy blue hair, and folded his arms. Tobirama took the same stance, and the two men had a stare-off. The company behind them all gaped at the sapphire-topped head that emerged from the camouflage fabrics, perfectly matching that of the Second Princess just beside him.

"Hello? Still here?" Mariko waved at them when neither would budge. Neither blinked. Maybe she should poke their eyes.

"Inuzuka Platoon Two has arrived, sir," a random shinobi called. One of the Uchiha pushed him back roughly and said something that Mariko would never repeat. At this, Tobirama whipped around and barked a sharp insult at the Uchiha, rather put off by the man's rudeness to the regular shinobi. The Uchiha spat on the ground and turned on his heel, calling his men back to their clan complex.

"Go tell Hashirama." Tobirama waved the poor shinobi away. Maybe it was because the lad was hardly twelve, around Hiruzen's age, and had a head of pink hair. Mariko had a strange warmth for this fellow, because they shared a common trait of odd hair color.

In the end, Katsurou sighed and pulled his arrows from the enemies – he'd gotten all fifteen bandits, either in this current circle, or around the village. He's also collected any stolen goods from Konoha, the Hot Springs, the Frost, and Hurricane. The blue-headed prince rolled out a sack from behind the trees, spilling it open to display some of the emeralds that had been slipped from Emerald Palace itself.

"This is Father's," he spat, disgusted. "How did it get here? Wait, don't answer that."

"Isn't this Sumi's?" Appalled, Mariko pulled out an old, redesigned dress of their sister's. "Maybe someone just wanted to wear it."

"On the mainland?" Katsurou arched his brows dubiously.

"Lord Prince," Tobirama drawled flatly. "Can we please deal with the subject of the fifteen men you just killed?"

"Well, you said _please_, so if we must, I suppose…" Katsurou trailed off, ending with a pointed glare at the Senju. Here was yet another battle of manliness that Mariko failed to understand, watching in confusion as Katsurou harshly brushed past her fiancé. She supposed it was his competitive reasoning come into play – he simply wanted to prove that a stuck up, rich prince like himself could also be a skilled shinobi. Tobirama, she knew, would not care much for that sort of thing.

Bodies were collected, and Mariko ushered back to the Senju complex. She threw one last glance back at the Uchiha, and saw Izuna sitting idly on the fence. He waved. Then, Madara tugged his younger brother's shoulder, and the two left for some clan business that would probably have to do with scolding Izuna for being a Senju sympathizer.

Katsurou, on the other hand, had not explained his underlying hostility towards Tobirama.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Have I been bad? Do you remember what used to happen when we misbehaved? I feel like you're still watching, even now._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Do that one more time, Katsurou, and I will _snap your bow in half_." It was not often that one saw King Hiroto enraged. He was a calm man, albeit a strict father, but he did not tend to show anger towards his children.

"I'm seventeen, I'm practically an adult. Why would you care? I can do anything I want." Katsurou narrowed his eyes. He was tall, filled out almost to his full height and width, and he was almost a good head taller than his own father. He was broad and strong, lean yet muscled. He was nearly a man, he thought.

"You are a boy," the king said. "You do not know your own powers."

"My own powers? What's the hurt in –"

King Hiroto strode towards the door, and it was evident what he was going for. Shocked, Katsurou froze in place, his tall frame making him look like an oversized child, for now he was truly terrified. No one ever defied their father as much as he did, but he'd never gone far. None of them dared cross him, for he had the power to take away something precious to them. He could, and _would_, take action if necessary. Mariko had seen many days where he warned her that skipping lessons would mean selling her horse to the butcher. Perhaps he just worded it cruelly, but his threats were terrifying even in his calm voice.

Ryouichi stepped in front of the door.

"Father, please. Katsurou is just full of hot air today, please forgive him."

King Hiroto did not strike his children. He hit them indirectly. But he was also not about to let this matter slip, and his four children knew it. He had each and every single one of them watching just to prove his point. One hundred percent a king, he strode up to his eldest son and looked him in the eye. Of equal height, he did not have to look up or down, but his gaze was simply powerful enough to force anyone to their knees.

Everyone except Ryouichi, that is.

The First Prince kept his shoulders squared and his chin high. He dared his father to make a move.

"Ryouichi. Step out of the way."

"No, Father."

But the king had seen the slight shift in Ryouichi's body weight, the lingering nervousness left in his subconscious. And he knew how to use it.

"Ryouichi," said Hiroto, in a lower voice this time. "You are going—"

Sumiko ran towards them, grabbing the doorknob before anyone could protest. She shot out the room and down the hall, towards Katsurou's quarters. If anyone knew Sumiko, she was typically a girl of action. She also knew the best hiding places. Katsurou's bow was not going to snap any time soon.

"Mariko, sit down. Move, and your horse is gone. Katsurou, go to my desk. If _you_ move, I will personally sail you to Uzushiogakure and have your powers sealed permanently. And Ryouichi, do I have to say anything?" The king put his hands behind his back and looked expectantly at his oldest son. Ryouichi took a breath, slow and almost shuddering, as if he was calming himself, and went to take a seat next to Mariko. He'd lost, in a way, and he wasn't happy about it. However, he was not a hot-tempered person, and he tended to deal with matters with an open mind and calm thoughts.

"Is that even possible?" spat Katsurou. "You can't seal my—"

"Do you think I don't know where Sumiko hides things?" King Hiroto suddenly interrupted. "Sit. We're talking about an important matter, Prince Katsurou. And I want every single one of you to hear it."

He opened his mouth to speak, but Queen Manami stepped lightly into the room. The children breathed silent sighs of relief. That was, until she stepped inside with Sumiko in tow, the poor girl with Katsurou's bow and arrow case in her arms. She defiantly fought back tears, trying to jerk away from her mother; she had to hide the bow.

"Child, stop struggling," Manami said gently. "It will do you no good."

"I'll run away," she threatened. And in a few years, she actually would.

"Go ahead and try," Hiroto said, sitting at his desk. Beside the mahogany table, Katsurou was clenching and unclenching his fists, so hard that his nails were biting into his palms sharply.

"We are here today to discuss matters regarding Katsurou," Manami continued calmly. "Ryouchi, as we all know, is the heir to the throne. The rest of you…"

_Have your lives written out for you, and you must live by them like actors in a play. Actors that cannot express even the simplest of desires, because the lines have been completed._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "Who was it?"_

_ "Someone."_

_ "That's not an answer. It's obviously someone close to you, right? …If he was so close to you, why is he not in the picture anymore?"_

_ "Because he'll never come back."_

_ "Well, that just means you should remember him more, right?"_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"You're a slippery man, Lord Prince," Hashirama sighed, tapping his pen to his notepad. Mito stood behind him, absently rubbing her husband's tight shoulders. "I've spent hours trying to figure out what your distress signals meant. We saw one, and then couldn't find you."

"You sent signals?" asked Mariko.

"Quiet, Shorty." Tobirama took her gently by the arm, but she shook him off.

"I did. Did you get Ryo? How about Sumi?" Katsurou, seated in the chair and dressed in clean clothes, sat up at the sound of his little sister's voice. At that moment, Sumiko burst into the living room and at the sight of Katsurou, ran at him and embraced her older brother.

"Stirrups, Katsurou!" she screeched. "You idiot!"

"Relax, Sumi," snorted Katsurou, pushing his other sister away. "I'm fine."

"Well _of course_ you're fine, I haven't pummeled you yet!"

"Lady Princess," Hashirama said firmly. He continued his questioning: "Please, Lord Prince, tell us what has happened."

* * *

A mysterious Takigakure man had aims to obtain all the Kekkei Genkai he could. His abilities rotated around the idea of holding more than one heart, which seemed quite absurd to them all. He'd had black market dealers and spies following the movements of just about everybody; he was very detailed and very precise. The moment Aunt Tari had set foot on Fire Country soil, she'd been followed. All the way to Konoha, and all the way to the Tea Country. Along the way, several archers had been dropped off, hence the first shooting. Katsurou's visit, however, had been sudden, and the attack would have been earlier had the Takigakure man known.

In short, they had Aunt Tari, along with Lord and Lady Gen of the Tea Country held captive. They were bait, pretty much. His intentions regarding the Aokami royals were unclear — but at the moment, he seemed intent on drawing them all out. All the bandits and archers were his, and his alone.

"No one else is involved?" Hashirama asked seriously. "Just this man who wants to obtain Kekkei Genkai?"

"Yes."

"Weren't there recent bloodline limit purges in Kiri?" Mito noted.

"All the more to obtain them, before they die out," Tobirama answered.

"Exactly. I'd like to say that he thinks the Hyoton is endangered in Kiri, so he's after us four main bloodlines. He also likes strong shinobi in general," Katsurou said. "I've seen him once, but only a glimpse. I found him somewhere near Sunagakure — that's where my trail for Aunt Tari led me, strangely enough — but I didn't stand a chance, so I ran."

"This is too confusing," Sumi exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "Don't involve me in this shinobi stuff."

Mariko, too, was overwhelmed. Kekkei Genkai? Hearts? What in the name of Esmeralda was it all supposed to _mean_? She just wished they could live peacefully: yet another reason she'd wanted to marry a regular governor who lived a passive life in the countryside, announcing the openings of new recreation centers and occasionally attending a few fun daimyo's invites. But instead, here she was, at the center of the world's greatest shinobi village, dealing with politics and ninjas. Sometimes, just the words _Kekkei Genkai_ confused her. It even took her a few moments to register that it was referring to the chakra attributes and the melding of two different elements.

Sumiko had never been patient. She blasted through the doors and made her entrance whenever and however she wanted to. And when she wanted to leave, there was no stopping her. She slipped silently out the door, presumably to cool off. Katsurou watched her leave, and then sighed into his hands.

"I'm still confused," he admitted. "I'm not quite sure what's going on."

"So we know that this Kakuzu is aiming for you and your siblings," Hashirama said. "That's basically it. Besides that, I'd have to say that the search for your aunt, the lord, and the lady will continue. Kell will help me with that." He turned to Mito. "Honey, call Etsuko and get Kell, will you?"

"Sure thing," Mito said, stepping out. "Dinner in an hour, everyone. Katsurou, you and Sumiko are welcome to join us."

"Thank you."

Mariko escaped too, because she still had too much to organize in her mind.

* * *

"Shorty, dinner."

"I'm coming."

"Doesn't look like it."

"I'm _coming_."

Tobirama stared at the little blunette, who was completely buried under her blankets and pillows. He stalked over and clambered over the bed, leaning over her. Peeling back the corner of the comforter, he looked at her dubiously. She flailed her arms, hoping to smack him away.

"It doesn't _look_ like you're about to get up any time soon," Tobirama said.

"Mmph." Mariko forcefully tugged the covers over her head again. Then, she realized that Tobirama practically had his arms wrapped around the form that was her body under the covers, and popped her head back out again. "Get off me."

"Nope." He took a pillow and stuffed it into her face. "Not till you agree to get up."

"I _can't_ get up!" she snapped, once the pillow was not muffling her. Mariko kicked through the blankets. In some form of magical teleportation, or maybe it was ninjutsu — no, definitely magic — Tobirama was under the covers with her and attempting to tickle her. She squealed and kicked him again.

"Ow, Shorty, don't kick there."

She tried again, and he grabbed her foot. That was bad, because her feet were ticklish to the point where she threatened to scream her head off and have Toka, Mito, Sumiko, _and_ Katsurou running into the room wielding all sorts of weapons. So instead, the white-haired Senju moved his hands to her waist and pinned her to the bed, the blankets tangled around and between them. Mariko flushed, but could not push him away.

"I'll kick you," she tried.

"Doesn't look like it," he said again, raising a brow.

He planted a short, sweet kiss on her lips and then waited to see her reaction. She made a noise that sounded somewhat like a strangled cat, which amused him to no end. He thought he would get a moment similar to that one heavenly morning, but Mariko foiled his plans by kicking him again, this time successfully. Somehow, she'd shoved him in the gut the first time, and this time, a hard knee to the groin sent him doubling over and clutching her shirt.

"H-hey!" exclaimed Mariko. "What are you doing?!" Her voice turned into a hiss, because he was unabashedly grabbing her chest. Tobirama hardly noticed — he was trying to swallow the high-pitched whimper and the tears that pricked his eyes. He dared not to speak, for if he did, his voice might crack like that of a prepubescent boy's. And he would sound ridiculous.

Mariko snatched his hand and tried prying it off her breast. It didn't really work, because the albino was practically frozen. She noticed his arm was shaking, and his face was buried — embarrassingly — in her stomach. Hunched over and still, she wondered what in the world he was doing.

"Tobirama?"

"Sh-Shorty," he said, "You, uh, have—"

His voice cracked on _have_, and she couldn't hold back a sudden guffaw. (Oh dear, how unladylike, she thought, horrified.)

"Give me a moment," he said quickly, and before his hands could tighten around any more inappropriate body parts, she rolled over and pushed him off. It was quite intriguing, watching a tall, lean Senju curl up into a ball beside her, hugging a pillow to his chest. Comically, his eyes were closed and he was frowning, as if trying to solve an intense arithmetic equation in his head. "Why did you have to kick so hard?" he gasped after a few moments, loosening his grip on the pillow.

"Wait, what? I'm more concerned about the location of your _hands_," Mariko said pointedly. But Tobirama shook his head and threw the pillow aside, because _his_ main worry was that he'd never have children now. Then again, if Mariko buried herself behind pillows every time he accidentally touched her somewhere suggestive, he'd never have children anyway. Or, more likely, if he tried getting in bed with her, they'd end up in a massive, shinobi world war level pillow fight.

"Shorty, you just _kicked _me," Tobirama said, eyes narrowing.

"So? Aren't you a shinobi?" She stared at him, and stared and stared until he grimaced and deliberately glanced down at himself. It took her a while, but when she thought about it, her knee had been relatively close to… "I thought shinobi were strong," she spat sardonically.

"We are," he spluttered, "this has nothing to do with it!"

"Why, because you have armor to protect you there?" She raised an eyebrow. Mariko sort of liked this spunky side of herself; perhaps she should show it more. Besides that, this topic was making her blush, and she didn't like blushing, because it looked absurd with her hair. Especially when she laughed too hard and turned into a tomato with blue stalks.

"Shorty, you're _so_ funny," drawled Tobirama folding the pillow to his abdomen again. "You've developed an effective way to get me out of your bed."

Mariko's eyes widened at this evocative comment, as if they'd been doing something beforehand that she couldn't possibly remember. Inwardly, she slapped herself. She _still_ wasn't even sure what kissing was supposed to be — she desperately hoped that she didn't seem like a prone doll when he kissed her — and was he suggesting a more serious step?! This was like one of those intense romance novels, and she wasn't sure she could handle it without the blood rushing to her head and making her dizzy. That is, despite her desperate want to flip the pages and progress the story.

He sat up then, daring to straddle her despite the danger to his manliness, and leaned forward over her. Gently, he put his lips to hers and they stayed that way for a while, soft, slow kisses that seemed to meld them together. At first, Mariko could hardly breathe, but when she did, she smelled his shampoo hair and forest-like crispness, the smell of freshness after a morning of rain, and an extra something that drew her to him, magnetized the two. His hands ran over her, fingers tracing the line of her waist. When they reached the edge of her shirt, they slipped beneath the thin fabric and began sliding upwards, backtracking on the inside. Before she knew it, and before she even realized it, the light lavender blouse had been pushed over her head and tossed to the side.

"Hips, Shorty," Tobirama ordered through a kiss, tapping her upper thigh. The blunette, caught up in the fact that one of his hands was playing with the straps around her shoulder and the warmth of his lips, somehow understood what he meant and obliged by lifting her pelvis up. The thumb of his other hand hooked her pants, the interestingly-cut Konoha trousers that ended halfway to the ankle, and pulled down.

Mariko's arms were wrapped around his neck, and she wasn't quite thinking clearly, but she let his hands roam her skin and pull off articles of clothing as he wished. And suddenly, both hands were sliding around her shoulders and lifting her slightly from the mattress, moving down to the clasp of her bra, sending a tingling shiver up her spine.

"TOBIRAMA, WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT CUTTING OFF THINGS THAT YOU DON'T WANT CUT OFF?!"

Tobirama nearly jumped straight up and down in the air, thrusting himself jerkily away from the blunette, who remained on the bed, stunned. If he'd been a cat, he would've hissed and arched his back, shackles on end and tail straight up. His legs were entangled with Mariko's, giving them a world's worth of trouble when they tried detaching. He, who was still fully clothed, and she, who was half-naked, stared at the woman in the doorway, who was seething with the fire of twenty Uchiha men.

"Tobirama, do I _want_ you to explain to me why there is a half-naked Mariko in bed with you?" Toka gripped the doorframe, so hard that Mariko feared it might snap and they'd have to call Hashirama to fix it, and the entire wall itself. Then, when Hashirama came, Mito would come, and Mito would call down the gates of doom and all hell would break loose. And after all hell broke loose, Sumiko would come to investigate, and when Sumiko came, Katsurou would come, and the two would fight to the ends of the earth for their baby sister's innocence. And fighting to the end of the world meant something she couldn't possibly imagine, but only knew that Tobirama's life was endangered.

So she hoped Toka didn't break the doorway.

Tobirama shook his head frantically.

"Tobirama. Out. Now."

But the man was frozen again, eyes hilariously wide, sitting there with one leg over Mariko's and the other buried in pillows. Meanwhile, several more were littered on the ground, both from their little session and from his fantastic backwards spook, in which he flung things every which way and was terrified to his very core. At least, terrified for his manliness. Mariko was quite sure that the shinobi part of his heart was quiet and calm, sipping a cup of tea like all in the world was right, while his normal human instincts were screaming at him.

"Tobirama," growled Toka, stalking into the room. Mariko was convinced that the dark-haired woman would grab Tobirama and fling him across the room, the way her face looked.

And then, Tobirama's worst fears were realized, because the one trailing Toka by a few minutes happened to be one protective, blue-haired older sister. Her eyes widened — she made an expression that looked suspiciously like one of glee — and then her gaze turned to the man sprawled on the bed, and then her face was murder. Mariko was not sure if her sister would choose to turn on her heel and walk away, or descend on Tobirama like a bird of prey on its afternoon snack.

But then, almost conflictingly, Sumiko's face turned back into a cheery little grin. She patted Toka on the shoulder and walked away.

"Dinner in five, people!" she sang merrily. Toka, flabbergasted, stared after the older blunette princess, gaping with her jaw ajar. The dark-haired Senju woman glanced back at Tobirama, who cringed when she frowned at him. He was, at the moment, the least intimidating person on the entire shinobi continent. Mariko petted his head comfortingly, as if he were a cat frightened by a mean child. It was something Tenzou always did – he'd flatten his ears and cling to her, nuzzling anxiously into her face.

"This," Toka said, circling her finger accusingly at the messed up bed and Tobirama, "did not happen. I'll forget it…for now."

Also known as: "You owe me big time, but I still might kill you later."

And, to make things worse, as soon as Toka left, someone bounded down the hall and caught her arm, right in front of the doorway. Cheery and smiley and all gossip, gossip, gossip, Etsuko snatched up Toka's hand and begged for her cousin to come see something. Then she turned, and she saw. And the two were still sitting there, bowled over and stupefied to the likeness of ice statues.

Toka shook off Etsuko and tramped down the hall. Etsuko didn't notice; she was too busy staring at the couple, rumpled on the bed. Were they a couple, really?

Then, in exasperation: "_Finally_¸ Tobirama. You know, I thought you'd get to this _earlier_."

When Tobirama didn't answer, she continued, "Seriously, _Kell and I_ have progressed more than you!"

No answer. Mariko stared at the younger girl, about to turn seventeen, and apparently _farther than them _in her relationship. The blunette started to question the meaning of this, and meanwhile, flushed slightly pink. Not that she wasn't pink before, of course. Etsuko grinned, and then jerked her thumb at Tobirama.

"You know, Mariko, he usually doesn't take things slowly," she commented casually. "It's impressive, you know. He's waited for you for, like, forever."

Forever, in Etsuko's case, meant a month and a half. Or maybe a little more, but nonetheless, Mariko gave her a look that oozed confusion. Tobirama appeared to be suffering, as if he wanted to hide under the pillows for the rest of eternity. He was the complete opposite of the cool-headed, stoic shinobi with the name of Senju Tobirama.

"Somebody, answer me," cried Etsuko, in mock exasperation. "Hey Kell! Come over here!"

At this holler down the hall, Mariko dove for the covers and Tobirama tumbled off the bed and grabbed her shirt. Etsuko laughed, because she'd called a bluff completely.

"You two are ridiculous," she giggled. Then she left.

"What just happened?" moaned Tobirama, while Mariko sheepishly dressed again. She crossed her legs and shook her head, for there was no explanation for what just happened, except for the fact that everyone was out to stop Tobirama, one way or another. That, or they wanted to cut him to pieces and save Mariko's purity.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "You're leaving today."_

_ "I am."_

_ "When will you come home?"_

_ "I don't know."_

_ "You're never coming home. Am I right?"_

_ "Mari, don't say that. Of course I'll come home. I'll bring you Frost souvenirs, too."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Katsurou had been wounded, and being the thick-headed prince he was, he'd refused to let anyone know. It was only when Sumiko good-naturedly jabbed him in the side that his forced smile had turned into a pained wince. An old slash to the side, bloody and badly sewn together – something that Mito tutted at reproachfully – and most likely infected. Yet Katsurou bore through it with gritted teeth, and ignored the searing pain when he drew his bow and arrow. Somehow, he managed to appear smooth with his weapon, never faltering.

"You idiot," Sumiko said the next day, when they found out. "What if it got infected and you were dead before you made it here?"

"The note, Sumi, did you send it to Ryo?"

"Listen to me, stirrup head." She glared.

"I'm listening."

"What's the square root of one hundred and sixty-nine?"

"Sumi."

The prince laid on a hospital bed, a rather hard platform, wearing a pair of Hashirama's old ninja trousers and nothing on top. Mito pressed a finger to the lower rib of his ribcage, and applied a small touch of chakra.

"Can you feel that?"

"Yeah."

"How about now?"

A few silent seconds passed, and then Katsurou shook his head. Mito repeated this process several times, all around the wound. When asked what for, Mito replied that Katsurou had refused the overall anesthetic and wanted to remain awake during the entire thing. The Uzumaki also suggested that Mariko look away, if she was queasy. Mariko did as the woman told her, because she knew that though she could bear observing the wound, crusted over with old blood and jagged with the skin slightly discolored, she would not be able to watch Mito cut the badly tied sutures and open up the wound.

Hashirama stood by, watching his wife.

"Honey, he's got something _in_ the wound," he said, even before Mito had opened it. She glanced up at him.

"You know what it is?"

"Looks like an arrowhead."

"Hashirama, how do you see this?" asked Sumiko incredulously. "I don't see a thing."

The Hokage shrugged. Then he said, "Practice, I guess."

But that hardly made any sense, because while Hashirama easily identified the miscellaneous object, Mito had not seen it beforehand, and Mito was an adept healer from the Uzumaki clan.

"That's coming from a man who can heal himself without even moving," Tobirama said flatly. "_And_ he can heal others without any effort whatsoever."

"I learned that for a reason," Hashirama replied, glancing pointedly at his younger brother. Tobirama's eyes shifted to his feet, silent.

Mariko faced the wall, and accepted the chair that Tobirama offered her. Her ears were filled with the constant stream of conversation between Katsurou and the group. Mito didn't mind Katsurou's talking, but kept scolding him when he wiggled too much.

"Honey, numb all the way here," Hashirama said, pointing to a point on Katsurou's stomach, indicating depth. "The arrow's deeper than you think."

"Seas, Katsurou," hissed Mito. "How are you alive with an arrow in your belly?"

The Second Prince shrugged, earning himself another sharp remark from Mito, who told him to keep still.

"Lady Princess, you remind me of someone," Tobirama mused aloud. He cast a pointed glance at Mito, who expertly ignored him and stuck some bizarre sort of tool into Katsurou's side.

"Hashirama, why are you _so_ accurate?" sighed Mito, pulling out the arrowhead.

"I'm sorry." Unexpectedly, Hashirama sat in a chair and sulked, as if he'd done something wrong.

"Honey," Mito called over flatly, "that was a compliment."

At this, the Hokage beamed. Sumiko and Katsurou exchanged glances, while Mariko tried to pretend she didn't hear the sickening slosh of what was probably guts and flesh as Mito felt around for more miscellaneous substances.

"He's having one of his moments," Tobirama sighed. "Isn't that right, Hashi?"

Hashirama sulked.

"Tobirama!" snapped Mito. "The poor man's got issues, just deal with it!"

"Ah, but Mito," Tobirama tsked, "I've dealt with him all my life."

The redhead threatened to turn around and whip the bloody arrowhead at her brother-in-law, but took a deep breath and continued closing up her surgery. Katsurou wondered out loud what in the world Mito was doing, because he felt a funky shifting, and how in the world did one not feel their guts being moved around? At this, Mariko cringed, stomach crawling and doing a slow flip.

"She could pull out your liver and you wouldn't know it," Etsuko laughed, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. The younger girl had stepped in without anyone really noticing — besides maybe Tobirama — and had been listening in for some time. For Mariko, her comment was not funny at all. It was rather horrifying, actually, for if a woman like Mito was placed on the battlefield, she could tear out enemy's hearts before they even knew they'd been pierced.

"That's disturbing," groaned the prince on the table, agreeing with his youngest sister while Mito pulled out a thick, wiry string. She closed up the wound expertly, her professional hand suturing the entire cut up quickly. Then, when she was done, she finished her end stitches and set her tools aside. Hands hovering just above the wound, they glowed a soft, eerie green, pulsating warmth through the room. Mariko wondered why she hadn't just done that in the first place, but then remembered that there was an arrow embedded in him.

Mito finished up, and then easily asked if anyone was up for lunch. Mariko, personally, was not in the mood for any food whatsoever. Katsurou claimed that he felt like a chunk of him was missing, because his midsection was still quite numb, due to a high-level medical technique that cut off nerves by intercepting chakra signals and using them to numb sense receptors for a limited time. Mariko was sure that it was much harder than Mito made it seem, pressing invisible points on Katsurou's abdomen without so much as a furrowed brow. A member of the Hyuuga, with their impossibly sharp Byakugan, could not have pinpointed as accurately as Mito.

The youngest princess retreated to her room, but then decided that it would do her no good, because she would just sit and ponder again why in the world some insane Takigakure man would be after them. She would conclude that simply because he was insane, he was capable of hunting them down and holding Aunt Tari captive.

And then they would be subject to some horrible fate, and she preferred not to think of life that way.

So, to relieve some stress and take her mind off of these issues, she walked out to the barn and occupied her time by stroking Yodel's soft nose.

"He's missed riding with you," Arata said, appearing from the tack room.

"Has it been long?" Mariko felt like days turned to weeks and weeks turned to days.

"Long or short, he misses the work," Arata sighed, leaning on the stable door beside her. Mariko was conflicted then, because here beside her was a calm, patient man that she'd considered lovely more than once. More than once, she'd wished that she was to marry Arata, rather than his white-haired cousin. Often enough, she relished in the way he was simple and honest, intelligent yet gentle. He was clear but had soft hands, like the way he handled his horses — warm, but expressing his needs and wants and loves clearly, with a familiar, quirked smile.

Now, the blunette wasn't sure what to feel. His attitude towards her had never changed; _hers_ had. What had happened yesterday, in her room? What _would_ have happened, had Toka failed to interrupt them then? Would life be different if she was engaged to Arata, and not Tobirama? Mariko wanted to kick something, because Tobirama was completely and utterly complicated, his moods differing from one moment to the next, but Arata was a steady pillar, faithful with his arms open.

At least, he _had_ been, to her. To Tobirama, it seemed that they were on tight terms. They'd never been particularly close; Arata didn't have the casual friendliness that his sister had with the white-haired cousin, and after yesterday's unexpected spat — something Mariko still did not quite understand — they were no closer than before, and most likely more distant. Arata, poor, sweet, Arata, with his scarred face and thin lips, his sometimes ill complexion and darkened eye circles. But he was still Arata, with his characteristic scars and a smile that was oddly comforting, pale like Toka and always tired, but still full of never-ending support. It seemed, to Mariko, that should she fall off another cliff, he would easily cushion her fall and gently walk her back home.

Tobirama, on the other hand, would be the one dangling her off the head, daring her to open her eyes.

She wondered how he would catch her: Would he swoop her away and fly like an eagle, or would he let her fall and catch her at the last moment, leaping through the air and alighting on the roofs of Konoha buildings just for the thrill?

Sometimes angry, sometimes solemn, sometimes just a tad happier than usual to be able to land a surprise kiss on her. Delighting in her flabbergasted response, playing with her inability to reply coherently.

Arata would be the storybook prince, maybe not handsome or charming, but warm and friendly. A kiss from Arata would be like a comforting embrace, not a sudden, sparked fire that threatened to burn over.

But was that what she wanted?

Mariko petted the horse's muzzle again and again, and when Yodel pushed her nose into her shoulder after dipping into his bucket for a drink, the blunette supposed that she'd rather have a wet kiss from a loving, old horse. Slobbery or not.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "Do you have any pictures of him?"_

_ "I'm not sure."_

_ "You should. Hashirama might keep some, right? I've seen tons of books and photo albums in his shelves at the Hokage Tower…"_

_ "He might."_

_ "C'mon, he's got to be important to you! Let's look for him. Was he one of your best friends when you were younger?"_

_ "He was my brother."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

It was silent, and nearly midnight when Mariko ventured down the hall to Tobirama's room. She was hugging the flower book to her chest, wanting to show it to him in the effort of an apology. Just a little bit. She'd been too harsh that one time, and she wanted to let him know that if he was interested, then she would open up to him. At the same time, he would have to do the same for her.

Mariko also wanted to figure out her feelings more, especially after yesterday evening.

"Door's unlocked," came the bored call when she knocked. Stepping in, Mariko tentatively peered around the door and found him sitting at his desk, rummaging through folders and drawers, papers strewn across the floor. "Sit, Shorty." He hadn't even looked to know that it was her. Mariko obediently sat on his bed.

"What are you looking for?"

"What are you here for?" he replied, almost parroting her curious little voice. He was mocking her, and from his tone of voice, Mariko could tell that his mood had soured.

"I wanted to show you my hibiscus book."

"Mm. Intriguing," he replied sardonically. "Your brother, earlier, wanted to show me his fist."

Appalled, Mariko sat back.

"He what?"

"It's nothing." Apparently, _nothing_ was referring to a man-to-man faceoff in which Katsurou probably tried to have a word with Tobirama. Somehow, being men and having an odd sense of direction when it came to working out problems, Tobirama's _nothing_ became a fistfight. "He's just confused."

"He's just confused?!"

"It's a guy thing, don't worry about it."

Of course. Mariko fell back on the bed, sighing exasperatedly. She decided not to pursue around the matter, for she'd only come more stressed. Tobirama, who had been fishing through his drawers this entire time, now pulled a dusty old folder from the very back, last drawer. He brushed its grimy cover off and sauntered over to Mariko, laying the leather-bound album before her.

"I found one," he said softly. She felt the bed shift as he sat down, and then reclined beside her, so they were sprawled across the bed side by side. He pulled the book up to her for her to see, and handed it off.

"What's this?"

"Photos that aren't ripped."

She gingerly pulled the first page open, and saw a yellowed photo. One boy had short, brown hair, a sort of shaggy chestnut mop that Mariko was now accustomed to. The boy on the far right was obviously Tobirama, though his cheeks were unmarred and his narrow eyes were accompanied by his spiky silver hair. Finally, in the middle of the two, a shorter boy, with hair that seemed to be pulled from each of his brothers. A smiling child, one that looked startlingly similar to Hashirama, but had an odd mix of hair colors.

Mariko said, "Are you adopted, or something?"

Tobirama scowled.

"I'm serious. You don't look like them."

"He's got my hair."

"Half of it."

"Still."

"You sure you're related?"

"I look like our mother, okay?" Tobirama folded his arms and stared at her, hard. It was quite awkward because he was facing her, very close, both of them lying on their sides on the bed.

"Lies."

Tobirama rolled over, crouching over her.

"I found this _for you_," he emphasized, placing the book down in front of her. Mariko looked through it and, indeed, it had pictures of the mysterious boy that was supposed to be a third Senju brother. And then, nothing. "You're lucky there are even pictures at all," Tobirama muttered, crawling off of her. "I'm going to bed, Shorty. Hit the lights when you're done."

The tall, white-haired man looked absolutely preposterous as he crawled into his covers and holed himself inside of a pillow mountain, looking like a caterpillar finishing his cocoon and donning it with pillows as his finishing touch. Mariko prodded the lump that was Tobirama. Then, deciding that he was tired enough not to be bothered by her poking, she looked through the old album again.

Worn, black strings held the entire thing together, and it looked as if it was handmade, the leather cover cut a bit jaggedly and the pages uneven. But the photos were carefully printed, as if someone had taken the time to find a place to develop them, no matter how long it took. Carefully aligned and actually sewn with a tight thread to the page, the pictures were slightly worn but still visible.

"What was his name?" she asked the lump on the mattress.

After a pause, he murmured, "Itama."

"Itama," Mariko said, trying it out on her tongue. She wasn't sure if Tobirama would react to this, but judging from the lack of movement from the bed cocoon, she felt sure that he probably only reacted on the inside. "Itama, Hashirama, and Tobirama."

She liked the sound of their names; they were very distinctive. Mariko spent a good half hour or so browsing through the few pictures he had that included Itama. They weren't very old when the pictures of Itama disappeared, leaving only the two brothers she knew today left. When she decided she was done — a little disappointed she hadn't gotten to show Tobirama a certain blue flower, but glad she'd gotten to see his share of his life instead — she padded over and flipped the lights. Then, feeling her way back to the bed, Mariko practically fell on Tobirama.

"Shorty, I thought I told you to be quiet," he moaned.

"You never said anything like that," she hissed, clambering over him ungracefully. A hand shot out from beneath the covers and dragged her in so that she was tucked comfortably against his chest.

"You could've guessed easily," he rumbled, a surprisingly cold hand coming around her waist.

"Your hands are cold," she complained.

"So warm them for me," he mumbled, burying his face in the pillows and his hands under her shirt, along her hips. Mariko wiggled away from him, skin tingling at his cold palms.

"Only if you tell me what happened between you and Katsurou," she told him. "Seriously, attacking a man who just had surgery?"

Tobirama said something – it sounded vaguely like Katsurou had thrown the first punch – but it was mostly muffled by the pillow. Mariko patted his cheek, just to see if he'd react. When he only tried wrapping his arms around her again, she ran a hand fondly through his white hair. Then, he hugged her as if hugging a pillow, practically squashing her.

"Hey," she said, poking his chest. But he only nuzzled her hair, and pretended to fall asleep.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_"Men are idiots. Women do all the work because men are idiots, and men are idiots because women do all the work."_

_ "Why?"_

_ "_Because_ I just told you, Mari. It's stressful."_

_ "What is?"_

_ "Boys!"_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Lady Princess, what do you know of shinobi ranks?" inquired Kell quietly. They were in the piano room – Kell, Mariko, and Katsurou – curiously browsing through some of the old bookshelves to pass the time before they were inevitably called to help prepare for Etsuko's birthday party. The seventeenth day of August, on which Etsuko would turn seventeen. They were more than halfway through the month, a fact that only reminded Mariko that her own wedding had been postponed. Again.

Not that she minded, because she still blocked out the idea of marriage. Having feelings for a certain white-headed Senju was quite all right for now, but having a husband just blew her away.

"Shinobi ranks? Well, there's a Hokage…"

"Oh Mari, you silly," snorted Katsurou, rolling his eyes. He was reclined on the couch – a certain couch that pained Mariko to look at – with a hand resting on the side of his old wound. It was healed nearly completely, thanks to Mito's unrivaled medical ninjutsu, but he was told to take it easy nonetheless. "There's plenty of things you need to know about shinobi, if you're going to live in one of their villages."

"Well, I'm _so sorry_ that no one ever let me learn about ninjutsu," she replied dryly.

"It's not a big deal," Kell broke in lightly. "Let me tell you about them – since it's got something to do with Etsu, after all."

"Etsu?" parroted Katsurou, with a slight crinkle to his nose. "That's cute."

Kell flushed slightly, but he faced away from the blue-haired prince, saving at least a bit of his dignity.

"First off," Kell continued, "there are genin."

"I feel like I've heard that," commented Mariko. Genin evoked memories of children, so she'd supposed that they were the young ninja. Team Tobirama, for example, was comprised of genin. She had deduced that young shinobi were led in four-man cells, the fourth member being a higher level shinobi whose rank she did not know how to pronounce or even recognize at all.

"Those are the lowest level of shinobi, unless you count the Academy kids, who aren't even ninjas yet," Kell told her. "The next level is a chuunin. They're sort of the middle class shinobi. They're allowed to lead teams, but they aren't as experienced as the jounin, which are the higher-ups of the ninja world."

That sounded about right to Mariko. Chuunin. It was a chewy word, and when Kell told her that they were changing the chuunin promotions by the Hokage to an official round of Chuunin Exams, she had fun rolling that off her tongue as well. Mariko wondered if Kell found her strange for trying to pronounce everything several times. It wasn't her fault; they didn't have _chuunin_ in Hurricane.

"They just finished building this huge stadium downtown," Kell was saying enthusiastically. "For matches."

"You watch people fight?" Mariko asked.

"Welcome to Konoha," chortled Katsurou, leafing through an old medical booklet. He exclaimed something about deer antlers serving as important medicine components, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Then again, it was quite intriguing.

"Well, for now, Hashirama-sama told me they're still working it out. It was Tobirama-sama's idea, after all." Kell made it sound as if all of Tobirama's ideas needed serious debating, lest they cause a world war. Knowing Tobirama – and her new knowledge of his Uchiha clan bias – he would probably wage war against certain people without hesitation. Either that, or he'd lounge back and sip a tropical punch of some sort. You never knew what it would be with him. One moment relaxed, the next moment sharp and unflinching.

He still couldn't hold a candle to Hashirama's mood swings, though. They weren't the kind of mood swings that Mito had; they were more comical.

But that was besides the point. Kell informed her that the peace between nations was often shaky – something she actually knew about – but the shinobi nations were slowly working out relations, and were willing to send their genin – that sounded risky to Mariko, for what if one country decided to kill off all the potential ninja of their enemies? – to become certified as official chuunins.

"It's a great idea," Kell said, "but debatable. Everyone's still trying to decide what would happen if they sent their kids to Konoha." Then, in a lower voice, "Though Hashirama-sama has a reputation for being warm-hearted, so I supposed that's what changed the tide for many, especially Iwa and Suna."

"Of course Kiri wouldn't like that," Katsurou laughed dryly. "They're always suspicious of everyone, even their own kind. I remember that one of the governors was nuts, he would always kill off his own people because he was afraid they'd kill him first."

"Why did we invite him again?" asked Mariko, making a face.

"We didn't know he was crazy until later," replied Katsurou. He waved off the thought. "At least the Mizukage's not as crazy, but don't take my word for it. They're all a little strange…"

"And Kumo's got their own problems," mentioned Kell. "Otherwise, they're quite peaceful."

"Iwa's old man is friendly," added Katsurou. "He likes Frost products."

"And Sunagakure?" asked Mariko.

"They're just generally peaceful as well," Kell told her. "But the main point is," he said, seeming to backtrack entirely, "Etsu's trying to become a jounin, and you need a promotion for that. She was kind of sad that she didn't get to fight people."

Katsurou and Mariko laughed then, because it appeared as if Kell was only circling around the point so that they could talk about his fiancée. Even so, he was genuinely concerned that if she didn't get promoted, she would be depressed.

"It's her birthday, too," he sighed.

"I'm sure Hashirama will recognize her talent," Katsurou said, sitting up to pat the younger man on the shoulder. "Besides that, we were talking about Chuunin Exams. Will there be one soon, then?"

"I think so. An experimental one. Which is why Etsu's depressed about it," Kell said.

"I can't get anywhere with you," exclaimed Katsurou. "It's always back to Etsuko, isn't it?"

"He can't help it," Mariko defended, smiling gently at the Tea Country man. No, hardly a man, for he was still a boy that hadn't learned how to use his long arms and legs, and wasn't much older than herself. But he was in love, and his love was in love with him, so it was a given that he should have a period of well-deserved mushiness.

"And neither can you, baby sis." Katsurou turned and raised an eyebrow at her, before trying once more with Kell. "Tell me, Kell, where is this stadium?"

* * *

"Excuse me, but would you be able to buy some flowers?"

Mariko turned. She was walking through town in the company of Arata, Etsuko, and Toka – her safety net, in a way – when a girl with long, brown hair swept cleanly into a high ponytail had approached her. She was very pretty, this girl, with bright eyes and long lashes. Her skin was fair and she had soft, rose lips that accentuated her porcelain doll complexion.

Mariko took a look at the armful of bouquets the girl had.

"Of course," she replied, picking up a bundle that had an abundance of little bluebells thrown in. She paid the girl, who smiled and thanked her.

"Excuse me," the girl called again, a bit sheepishly. "But could you tell Tobirama-sama that Homura and I need him to retrace a scroll for us?"

"Um, sure," said Mariko, now wondering who this girl was. She watched the brunette bound away, nearly dropping a bouquet of red roses before bumping into an elderly Uchiha woman. The woman kindly bought the roses, smiling at the young girl, before turning back to her son, who was in the middle of a heated altercation with a storekeeper. Mariko had quite the time watching the Uchiha grandmother berate her son, ordering him to apologize.

"That was Biwako," Toka explained, when Mariko opened her mouth to ask about the flower girl later on. "She's the florist's daughter. Probably fundraising for something. Sweet girl."

"Terrifyingly good at setting traps," Arata commented.

"As her sensei, you should've been more aware after the time she nearly cut off your foot," Etsuko said to her brother flatly.

"Hey, that was an exercise," Arata claimed.

"You were her teacher?" asked Mariko, curious. Well, now that she knew the shinobi ranks, she could approximate who was what. It seemed like Arata was a jounin, and he'd led his own team for a time. She wondered why he stopped.

As if to answer her question, Arata spoke up. "I handed them over to one of the Hyuugas, because I didn't think I was a good enough teacher."

"Nonsense," Toka said sternly. "You were fine. The Hyuuga head herself told you that you were doing a fine job of training her son."

"Now _that's _nonsense," Arata chuckled lowly. "He achieved his Kaiten and Sixty-Four Palms without me. _And_ he's still a genin."

"I think you should take the team back up. Their teacher now has a hard time balancing between operations and team leading. She's also pregnant," Etsuko commented.

"Poor thing, she's also running back and forth to Hashirama's office all day," Toka added, as if trying to guilt Arata back into training his team. This exchange, Mariko watched carefully. Toka leaned over and informed her that the Hyuuga woman they'd met in the office the day the archers had tried to hit both of the Aokami princesses was the subject of their conversation.

"You're trying to pull something, and I don't like it," Arata said. Then, abruptly, "My stomach's rumbling. Let's get lunch."

"I heard your stomach ages ago." Etsuko elbowed her brother. "C'mon."

They arrived at a small ramen shop – one that Etsuko claimed was an old favorite of Mito's – and sat down. Meanwhile, the two Senju were still trying to push their cousin and brother back into training his genin.

"Especially with these new chuunin exams," quipped Etsuko nonchalantly. Hard as she tried, she had not dropped in this point as subtly as she would have liked. Her older brother turned and gave her a hard stare, because he now knew her ploy. They were going to use the new chuunin exams, courtesy of their white-haired cousin, to push him back into being a teacher.

"I'll have to thank Tobirama, won't I?" he growled deprecatingly.

"Your kids need you," Toka told him. "They can hardly train when their sensei's expecting a child. She can hardly be with them, anyway."

"It takes a Hyuuga to train a Hyuuga," Arata reasoned.

"So what? Are you going to get Biwako's own mother to train her, and call a random Inuzuka over to help Shiro?" Etsuko crossed her arms.

Stumped, Arata stared at his sister.

"All in favor of Arata training the kids, raise your hand." Etsuko raised her hand, and Toka followed suit. They stared at Mariko. Shyly, the little blunette copied them and lifted her hand, to Arata's dismay. With the vote in the majority of what he didn't want, he was defeated. Still, he didn't seem like he was going to reclaim his team right away, so Toka and Etsuko continued pressuring him.

Arata simply grabbed a pair of chopsticks and snapped them apart emphatically. Then, he poked at his ramen, waiting for a reaction. Toka and Etsuko stared at him until he glanced warily at Mariko, who shrugged unhelpfully.

"I'll tell Hashirama tomorrow," he finally sighed, relenting. Etsuko flashed a cheeky grin, which he halfheartedly reflected. "Not permanently, though."

"You idiot, when they're chuunins, they'll be your teammates, not your students," scoffed Toka, rolling her eyes. "And as far as I know, though a Hyuuga may be able to train a Hyuuga, none of them teach vital skills as well as you do. I'll tell Hashirama for you."

"Joy," mumbled Arata, though he wiggled his eyebrows at Mariko. She studied his face; his scars were pale, as usual, which meant he wasn't emotionally charged at the moment. If he was annoyed, his ears would have turned pink and his scars would have darkened, because his skin would redden. Oddly enough, Mariko found herself noticing these odd little things about people. How Etsuko twirled her hair absently when she talked, eye often gazing upwards, and how Toka's eyes would shift from side to side instead, as if observing her surroundings during any conversation.

But mostly Arata, because he was the most intriguing. She enjoyed looking for the subtleties of his own body language, a worthy challenge, unlike Tobirama, who was so masterful at control that she found it awful trying to read him. He could smile, but be angry, or he could be angry, but actually enjoy her presence.

And she would never know.

Except for sometimes.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Remember when Ryouichi wanted to take a psychology class at Esmeralda's top university? He took it, after you died. I kind of wanted to go with him, but I never did. Maybe it would have been interesting. Maybe I would've learned more about ninjutsu and shinobi. Do shinobi behave differently? Is it their survival instincts?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Hiruzen walked in with so many flowers that one could not tell it was Hiruzen trying unsuccessfully to breach the doorway with his armful of bouquets.

"Mito-sama," he whimpered pathetically, "do you have some space to put these?"

The redhead turned from her current position at the stove, trying to figure out why in the world it wasn't turning on. Though she didn't appear to be in a good mood, her face softened when she saw the poor genin staggering under his flowers – he probably bought them just to relieve Biwako's duties – and went over to help him.

"I've a few vases," she said, then tutted at his raggedy appearance, "and perhaps your mother would like to keep some, hmm?"

Mito whisked a vase from a cabinet, far back, and then took the one on the table and emptied it of its old blooms.

"They need water," Hiruzen said. "I've been carrying them for some time, and they're sort of dry."

"No problem," Mito answered. "Tobirama, please." She gestured to the vase.

Mariko swore she was watching a magic show, the kind where the magician snaps his fingers and a rabbit pops out of a hat. Tobirama did just that, except with water. He snapped his fingers, and water seemingly materialized out of thin air and filled the vases. Mariko vaguely felt that the air became a little bit less humid, not that she minded in this summer heat.

Tobirama glanced at her, and made a face.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Shorty."

And then, without any other words, he stood and sauntered out the door Hiruzen came in. He didn't even wait for her answer, only gestured to his student who was fumbling with the bouquet wraps. Plastic crinkled and fluttered all over the room as he frantically tried picking up the bouquets he was taking home and dropping off a few for Mito.

"Wait!" called Mariko, standing and jogging out after the two. Mito hummed lightly to herself, decorating the kitchen with far too many flowers, but it was all right with her. She watched the blunette scramble after the white-haired Senju and his student, and had a vague feeling that one of her siblings followed as well. If she wasn't having so much trouble with the silly new recipe she was currently battling, she would have clobbered the still-recovering prince. Whilst wrestling with her kitchen ingredients, Mito felt an odd sensation bubble up inside of her — she was angry, and then she was not, and then it felt as if cooking was the nicest thing in the world. She needn't worry about Katsurou either.

* * *

"This place is _huge_," whooped Hiruzen, running a big circle with his arms out wide like a bird. He joyfully leapt onto the wall and in an impressive display of acrobatics, leapt off the stadium's sides and flipped backwards, landing easily on his feet. Hiruzen had no worries at the moment — no man out to carve out hearts, no injured siblings, no missing aunt, no nightmares, no issues having to do with baffling males — and he was light as a feather, airy and excited. "Did Hashirama-sama grow these trees? This is _amazing_."

"Chill, Hiruzen," snorted Kagami, who folded his arms and quirked a smile at his friend. Mariko was sure that one could count on an eleven-year-old to be so excitable. "Hyuuga, fight me!"

The dark-haired boy made a face, his pale moon eyes reflecting a mysterious sort of disdain. He was only one of several genin circled around their instructors now, an entire gathering of Hiruzen's class assembled in the gigantic arena. He was Hyuuga Hideaki, Mariko would learn, heir to the Hyuuga head title and former student of Arata (hopefully, he would return to being Arata's student soon). A year older than Hiruzen and eternally with a scowl on his face — save the few times his expression softened into a mild chuckle — Hyuuga Hideaki, nicknamed Aki for short, was a stoic but highly-skilled genin from a top clan. Around him sat several more children from distinguished clans; very few non-clan families were allowed to enter the Academy at this point in time.

Mariko tested what she'd learned of Leaf clans. There, sitting quietly next to Koharu, a Nara girl. At least, the clan symbol emblazoned across her scarf looked like it was Nara. If Mariko recalled correctly, they manipulated shadows. That was the most she knew, for _how_ the shadows worked remained a mystery to her. Beside her, a quiet boy with round eyes and dusty gray hair. Next, a familiar boy with blood-red triangles in the likeness of fangs tattooed to his cheeks. Mariko felt as if she should know this boy's name by now, but she'd forgotten it – typical of her – though he, alongside his black dog with the floppy ears, was distinctly Inuzuka. He and the Hyuuga were accompanied by Biwako, whose clan Mariko was not sure of.

Across the circle, two boys. One was Torifu, who Mariko was rather fond of because he was always cheerful and had an adorable hat, and the other was a slightly round boy whose name was Kousuke. Beside Torifu, the ever-silent Danzo, absently touching the scar on his chin. Mariko wasn't sure if the Shimura were a distinguished clan, but he seemed to be a well-to-do young shinobi. Beside Danzo, Team Tobirama, and then the last member of Team Toka, Uchiha Kagami. The snarky one. There was a quirk to his lips that reminded Mariko of his clan leader, and supposed that it was an Uchiha thing.

Another team arrived, then, and they placed themselves near what Mariko was now dubbing Team Arata in her mind. Hyuuga Hideaki, the Inuzuka, and Biwako. Next to Biwako, a girl with long, straw-colored hair sat beside her. Their facial structure – smooth, heart-shaped faces and similar featuers – made Mariko think that they were related, most likely. She still didn't know what clan, however. A boy with startlingly red hair plopped himself next to Hiruzen and some other boys, sniggering conspiratorially with Kagami. Mariko didn't need a clan symbol to identify him – he was Uzumaki, without a doubt. He had probably arrived with Mito's people when she moved to Konoha, for there were many people constantly immigrating to the mainland. After the Uzumaki, the meek, pink-haired boy that Mariko remembered from the scene of Katsurou's arrival – a candy-topped fellow who placed himself behind Danzo. Again, Mariko wondered if he was a clan-less child who had managed to get into the Academy, or just another kid.

"We're missing someone, aren't we," murmured one of the adults. Alongside Tobirama, Toka, and Arata, there was one other jounin. The one that had spoken had a shocking tail of purple hair woven into an intricate braid.

"Team Shogo," Arata supplied. "He's had some trouble with Sasuke, who's been trying to convince him not to marry Yayoi."

Mariko whirled at the abundance of unfamiliar names that would continue to be thrown around. She decided just to fill them in with blank faces, save Sarutobi Sasuke (well, she assumed it was the same Sasuke all around).

"Typical," sighed the purple-haired woman. "Who's on her team again?"

"Aburame Shinya, Senju Akane, and I think it was…" Arata paused.

"Sarutobi Kagari," finished Tobirama.

"Ohh! Kagari!" exclaimed Hiruzen, randomly. Everyone glanced at him, and he giggled, turning a little pink at his outburst.

"All right, kids, stand up," barked Toka, striding to the front and center of the group's attention. "Until Team Shogo gets here, I won't explain, because I don't want to say things twice."

"They're here," Tobirama said flatly.

"Ah, perfect." Toka put her hands on her hips and waited. No one appeared. "And?"

"They're coming," Tobirama told her patiently. A course of fifteen seconds passed, and a group of four came jogging into the arena. A man with soft brown shoulder-length hair – Mariko found this hairstyle to be quite strange, though it framed his face well – led his team towards the big group. He apologized, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. His team sat themselves down, just as the other children had. One was an Aburame, who had a strange buzzing noise emanating from his direction, as if he were a gigantic fly. Mariko found this intensely disturbing, because she could hear a multitude of bugs buzzing, but she could not find the bugs themselves. The boy wore dark glasses and a high-collared jacket that obscured his face, showing only his sunglasses and his frizzy black spikes of hair. Secondly, a Sarutobi that had wildly spiked hair. An attempt to hold them down with a few dark pins created a lopsided (but intended) effect. He scooted next to Hiruzen, and they grinned – they appeared to be cousins, because everyone was cousins with everyone here in Konoha. Finally, a quiet girl with hair the same color as Hashirama. Hers was short, chopped off squarely at the nape of her neck. Had it been a messy hairstyle, Mariko would have named her a mop, but it was neat and straight, uninterrupted by any hitai-ate because she wore it around her neck. In order, they were Aburame Shinya, Sarutobi Kagari, and Senju Akane.

"Ah, we're here." Toka smiled, and then shot a quick glare at their sensei, who pretended nothing had gone wrong. "Now, today, we're going to practice dueling. As you know, the newly instated Chuunin Exams—" There it was, the chewy word and its examinations. "—are being set up, and you will face challengers from other shinobi nations. Of course, it is very possible you will face off with some of the people you spar with today, but that just makes for good practice. I promise you, it doesn't get boring."

Toka made a face at Tobirama, for some reason unknown. The white-haired Senju ignored it. Mariko assumed that Tobirama was receiving funny glances because he often thought of weaker opponents as…dull? Boring?

"Yayoi-sensei," called the Nara girl, "Are the exams all in here?"

"This arena is for the final exam," Toka explained. "We're designing three parts to this Chuunin Exam, which will be revealed the day of. But we're lucky enough to get to try it out, first."

Mariko counted the children: there were eighteen children, which made for six groups of three. But so far, there were only five adults, excluding herself, serving as the jounin instructors. Toka had her team of Danzo, Kagami, and Torifu. Tobirama with Hiruzen, Koharu, and Homura. The purple-haired woman named Yayoi instructed the Nara girl, the quiet gray-haired boy, and the friendly-looking Kousuke seated beside Torifu. The team that had arrived late with Shogo counted a fourth team, plus Team Arata making five. That left three children left without a teacher – the redhead from Whirlpool, the blonde next to Biwako, and the nervous pink-haired boy.

However, no one seemed to question this, as Toka continued explaining a few of the sparring exercises that would take place. The first would be a series of team exercises, for the Chuunin Exams would stress teamwork in many situations. The second training would involve working on individual battle skills. Some of the students excitedly requested matches, while others meekly hoped that they wouldn't have to fight at all. A few other children wanted to pit their senseis against one another.

"Hush, little ones," the violet-topped jounin barked. "First, Team Shogo versus Team Arata. Everyone else climb up to the stadium seating and observe."

Mariko watched the two teams center themselves in front of each other, wondering just how long this entire thing would take if they were doing a tournament-style battle program. It was nearing four in the afternoon, and oddly enough, her stomach rumbled. The little blunette also found herself at a loss because all the young shinobi were scaling the walls and popping into the seating area with ease.

Warm arms scooped her up, princess style, just as they had before. Mariko could hardly protest before Tobirama had nimbly leapt onto the wall, the chakra on his feet evenly propelling him up the vertical surface. Within a few seconds, Mariko was placed in a seat, with Toka and her team to the right, and Tobirama with his team on the left.

"Watch, Shorty. You might learn something." His face was expressionless, but his eye twitched when she poked him in annoyance.

Team Arata, it seemed, worked more independently than Team Shogo. Arata, standing closer to the railing, frowned when the Hyuuga tried separating the opposing team to take them down one by one. The Inuzuka child and his dog bounded around the arena, prompting Mariko to question his mode of attack. Finally, Biwako and Senju Akane were just fighting hand-to-hand.

However, Team Shogo naturally aimed for the easiest target, which was Biwako at the moment. The brunette's eyes widened when she saw a swarm of bugs beginning to engulf her – Mariko was bewildered when she saw the little insects float out in a massive cloud from the one boy's sleeves – followed by a massive fireball courtesy of Hiruzen's cousin, Kagari.

Biwako hardly made it out, for the black dog had tackled her to the side in an effort to save her. Her own team scrambled into a formation, and a badly made one at that, for while the fireball was dispersed by Aki's rotating Kaiten, the bugs simply detoured and made for the dog.

In the end, the Inuzuka – whose name turned out to be Shiro – took down the bug boy, and Aki's Sixty Four Palms accurately closed all of Kagari's tenketsu. Surprisingly enough, it left the Senju girl, a short but quick figure darting around the arena.

"Watch her movements," Toka was telling her team. Senju Akane deftly twisted around one of Aki's strikes, and then jabbed him in the side. She deflected a few of Biwako's kunai, thrown from her corner where she was resting. Mariko gasped when the fiercely drilling masses that were Shiro and his dog blasted into her, but was relieved when the girl pulled a replacement technique and escaped somewhere else.

"Time," called the purple jounin, raising her hand. "I'm going to say that this match is a tie, though Team Arata, you have _terrible_ teamwork."

The Hyuuga folded his arms and scoffed, while Shiro laughed loudly. Biwako said nothing. Kagari laughed clapped Shiro on the back, while the bug boy and the Senju girl quietly stood by. The dynamics between these teams were awfully amusing, sometimes.

The next match was Team Yayoi against Team Toka.

Unfortunately, the trio made up of the Nara girl, Kousuke Maruboshi (a mild, slightly nervous character), and the docile gray-haired boy were no match for Team Toka. Kagami fired round after brilliant round of excellently executed Katon techniques, followed up by Torifu's Akimichi style attacks. Mariko found herself smiling at the boy's attacks, as he puffed up into a gigantic ball and laced kunai around the sphere of his belly, then rolled violently towards the enemy, crashing down trees and shrubbery. While the Nara girl nearly caught Kagami with a cutting shadow, a technique that Mariko learned would bind people with a chakra-shadow connection, and Kousuke pulled a few Suiton jutsus out of his pocket, they could not take down Team Toka.

Finally, Danzo leapt in and finished them off. Utilizing a variety of seals learned from Mito and the Uzumaki, he trapped each member of Team Yayoi and pulled three shuriken from his pocket. He took a breath and prepared to use one of his slicing Fuuton jutsus.

"Danzo, heads up!" hollered Kagami. "Hatake's behind you!"

In that split second, Danzo realized that he had not sealed the gray-haired boy, but only a clone. When the bunshin puffed away, a flash of white swerved around Danzo and materialized into a genin. He wielded a short blade, and his chakra flashed brightly, like a light. In a brief but forceful downward slash, he sliced into Danzo's shoulder mercilessly. Mariko, in awe of this quiet boy who turned out to be the strongest of his group, watched as his face remained unchanged throughout the course of his attack.

Danzo managed to avoid the brunt of the blow, suffering only a minor incision as he dodged the blade. Staggering backward, he caught his breath.

"Kagami, get the other two," the scarred boy called to the Uchiha. Kagami performed a few seals and then ran towards the two bound shinobi at the other end of the field. He tilted each of their chins up and stared at them, until they slumped over, asleep.

Mariko poked Tobirama.

He scowled.

"Genjutsu," he explained gruffly. "He has the Sharingan."

"Kagami, watch his movements!" called Torifu.

"I'm busy!" shouted Kagami.

"Kagami!" repeated the Akimichi, narrowly dodging a flash of white light that was the gray-haired boy. Danzo hurled Fuuton after Fuuton slice at the remaining enemy, but failed to catch his prey. The boy paused, standing on the wall. He looked bizarre, standing horizontally like that, but Mariko supposed that this was a daily occurrence in shinobi life.

"_Kagami_, I can't freaking _see him_!" Danzo shouted. That was probably the most Mariko had ever heard the quiet Shimura speak, let alone shout. A string of quiet swears flew from Danzo's mouth, before Kagami leapt over and scanned the field with his scarlet eyes. "Hurry up!" snapped Danzo, as the gray-headed genin sped around again.

"Well I'm _sorry_ I only have two tomoe," muttered Kagami, drawing a kunai. He threw it at the wall, and it hit the surface with a heavy _plunk_, embedding itself firmly. It looked as if he'd hit nothing, but a shimmering reflection of chakra stuttered to a stop, and the boy materialized from his bright white flash, forced to change direction. At that moment, Danzo let loose a wild slice of wind, cutting into the wall and making the boy leap away from the area.

Right into a spinning mass of sharp objects and human bolder. Torifu rolled into the boy, smashing him to the ground and then bouncing away.

"Idiot, that was a replacement!" Kagami yelled, before he spun around and countered a short burst of lightning from behind. "What the hell, Hatake, you're a Raiton?"

The boy said nothing, only drew his short blade again and jabbed.

Kagami caught the blade's edge with a kunai and redirected the blow. This duel went on for a while until Toka called time. It was Team Toka's victory – something the other team sulked over when the first two awoke from their illusioned stupor – but the dark-haired woman scolded her team for letting the gray-haired boy give them such a hard time. Danzo's face was dark, and Kagami just looked annoyed, while Torifu grabbed a bag of chips and munched without much worry.

Team Yayoi took their seats, the Nara girl choosing to sit by the other girls, Kousuke by Torifu, and the Hatake somewhat by himself, though Shiro refused to not talk to him about his apparently new Raiton style.

"Who was that boy?" asked Mariko.

"He's from the Hatake clan," Tobirama told her. "They're quite the skilled clan, and I'm surprised he's doing so well, though."

"Compared to others?"

"Well, Kagami's just lazy most of the time, but this kid would give Akane a hard time."

This just confused Mariko, because she had no clue as to whether or not Akane was skilled – though she appeared to be very smart – and was not sure what Tobirama meant by Kagami being lazy.

"Explain?"

"He's good, but Aki could beat him, though I'm not so sure about Saru…" Tobirama seemed to be pondering now, trying to compare his students to the others.

Meanwhile, Toka was organizing the final match.

"Team Tobirama and Team Izuna, up please," she called. Mariko started. Team Izuna?

"I'M ALL FIRED UP!" yelled the boy with the red hair. At this, his teammates flinched, and Hiruzen snorted with laughter.

"You're the life of the party, aren't you," chuckled a familiar, distinctly Uchiha voice. He'd appeared out of nowhere, and somehow knew exactly where he was going, despite his lack of eyes. Izuna ambled out into the stadium, where he met with Toka and they went over the day's plan.

At the sight of him, Team Izuna exchanged grins and leapt down into the arena, followed by Hiruzen, Koharu, and Homura. However, a few others also tensed. Senju Akane directed her attention to the Nara girl and Biwako, forcing conversation. The two other kunoichi didn't seem to mind.

At the same time, Tobirama visibly stiffened. Mariko put a hand on his knee, and he glanced at her briefly.

Izuna easily strolled over to the wall and walked up its surface, appearing before them.

"Tobirama," he said in greeting.

"Izuna," replied the Senju tersely. Mariko was confused; this had never happened before. Hadn't they been in the barn one day, with both of them in close proximity? Nothing had happened then. Then again, Tobirama hadn't stayed long anyway.

Then: "I _swear_, Shorty, I will cut off all your hair if you don't stop poking me."

It came out as a vicious hiss, for he was trying to watch his team, and when he glared at her, she sort of just smiled demurely. Everyone had turned to look at them, and Tobirama awkwardly looked away from her. Then, not very subtly, he slid his hand into hers and let their intertwined fingers rest on his thigh.

A hushed conversation of excited girls' voices started up over by Senju Akane and her group. Mariko did not need fantastic hearing abilities to know what they were now gossiping about. She swore she heard one of them say, "His fiancée is _so _ adorable. And her hair is _so_ pretty. They look _so _cute together." Then again, Mariko could have been hearing things, despite her fondness for these comments.

Down in the arena, Yayoi called start, and immediately the two teams bounded away from one another, establishing a safe distance. After a few seconds, a member from each team tested the other with a few kunai. Then, when the Uzumaki leapt into the battlefield, Homura, surprisingly enough, spat out a water jutsu that swirled above their heads. Tobirama nodded, approving.

However, the redheaded boy easily avoided the crashing waves and advanced on Team Tobirama. Oddly enough, the other two were standing quite still. Taking advantage of this, Hiruzen and Koharu branched out to the sides and counterattacked. However, as soon as Hiruzen reached the Uzumaki, the candy-topped fellow broke from his position and ran at them with a kunai. By the time he reached Hiruzen, there was a four-person battle occurring – Hiruzen and Koharu, who had swerved her path to assist him, versus the red and pink duo.

"Koharu, use your—" Hiruzen never finished his sentence, because a number of chains from the ground snapped tight around his torso. He struggled, but they were not ordinary metal chains; instead, they consisted of a special chakra, formed into a Whirlpool-style seal. Hiruzen cursed himself for underestimating an Uzumaki. The redhead grinned, then turned to Koharu, who he narrowly missed with another well-planned Fuuin jutsu.

"You idiot!" snapped Koharu, dodging a few kunai from the pink-headed boy. She was backed into a corner now, surrounded by a few trees along a sandy portion of the arena. The young kunoichi had her hand poised by her weapons pouch, ready to draw a packet of deadly senbon needles.

To her surprise, the pink-haired fellow leapt away, and she felt a tug at her gut. Looking straight ahead, she saw their third member kneeling and aiming a unique hand seal her way. The blonde girl suddenly slumped over.

"Move, Koharu!" Homura called too late.

"She missed, she missed!" Hiruzen replied.

"We don't miss," laughed the Uzumaki boy, dodging a fireball from Hiruzen's lips. He leapt to the aid of the blonde girl, hoisting her up to a sitting position. "Haruno, take it away."

Koharu drew a kunai. Her eyes had a strange glint to them, and all was revealed when she spun around the threw her weapons at her own teammates. Accompanied by the pink-haired fellow (who had astonishing strength), Koharu began attacking her own team.

"What's going on?" whispered Mariko urgently.

"That's a Yamanaka jutsu," explained Tobirama, becoming bored despite the trouble his team had gotten into. "They specialize in mind-related techniques. That one transfers the jutsu user's mind to that of her target. She's controlling Koharu from the inside."

Mariko found this ludicrous. First trees growing from Hashirama's hand, water appearing out of nowhere, _walking on water_, and now this?

Hiruzen swore loudly, dodging both the Haruno and Koharu, making sure his fire attacks did not hit his own teammate. Unwilling to harm Koharu, despite knowing that attack to his teammate would have the same effect on the jutsu user, Hiruzen backed away. Homura, on the other hand, was kneeling by the trees, trying to think up an effective jutsu. He pulled out a scroll, and contemplated it for a moment. Then, in a split second decision before the Uzumaki left his post by the girl and attacked, he threw the scroll at Hiruzen.

Hiruzen caught it, opened it, and sliced his thumb quickly.

All in one moment, he had summoned the Monkey King Enma. There was little conversation that passed between the two, for the monkey lord had somehow turned into a black staff, which Hiruzen extended to reach the girl, unconscious across the arena. Her two teammates, red and pink alike, turned around in alarm.

Koharu's eyes widened, and she quickly performed a seal, before falling to her knees. The blonde girl immediately woke up and rolled away from Hiruzen's incoming attack. However, she was too late, as the staff rammed into her side and sent her sprawling.

"Koharu, you okay?" asked Homura quietly. Koharu nodded, back to herself. She scowled, as if the feeling of someone else controlling one's body was disgusting to her; which it was, most likely.

"Formation A, people!" Hiruzen hollered back at them. Koharu, still glaring, drew a handful of senbon and stood at ready. "I need one big fat Suiton on three, Homura!"

Homura pressed his hands together, most likely gathering the remaining reserves of chakra. All at once, he let loose another gigantic water wave that flooded the arena, forcing their opponenets to gather their fallen and retreat to the far walls. Without delay, Hiruzen vaulted up onto a wall and leapt into the air, flying grandly above them all. He blew a harsh flame at the raging waters, creating a mask of steam that clouded the entire stadium.

There were yelps and cries of alarm as Koharu leapt into the mist – none of her teammates were inside, deeming it all right to let loose a barrage of weapons.

"Winner, Team Tobirama," called Yayoi, cutting the match short when the poor pink, red, and blonde team emerged somewhat similar to porcupines. Mariko cringed; it looked awfully painful, to be mercilessly stabbed by the myriad of needles that Koharu wielded. She didn't even want to imagine the pain that would come with being a shinobi.

"You let your guard down," Izuna told his team quietly. "Your mistake was leaving behind your teammate."

He must've been referring to the gaping hole they'd created when the Uzumaki left his post by the Yamanaka girl. Tobirama, on the other hand, merely asked his team what the hell they were doing in the beginning.

"Don't dawdle," he told them flatly.

"Yes sir," murmured Hiruzen and Homura. Koharu nodded.

"Whew! That was exciting," said a new voice. All the kids turned ot the source of this voice, for it was an unfamiliar one. There was a collective whisper amongst the girls, and Mariko groaned inwardly. Of course the girls would begin gossiping; there was a stunning, blue-haired man right behind them, after all.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ I will never understand men._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"I'm sorry, but civilians can't—" Yayoi paused, seeming to make the connection between Mariko and this stranger at the door behind the stadium seats. She shot Tobirama a confused look.

"LORD PRINCE!" exclaimed Hiruzen, too loudly. He must've been ready to make an idiotic statement about how Katsurou's hair was still blue today, so his teammates clamped their hands over his mouth forcefully. Everyone gaped.

"Ah, Toka, I'm requested back at the Uchiha complex," Izuna said, mostly to himself. Toka nodded, dismissing him. Mariko found this rather strange, because it almost sounded as if Izuna had received a mysterious mental message, and now needed to amble off on his own. Then again, he seemed to do that a lot. "Good to see you're doing well, Lord Prince." Izuna smiled at Katsurou. "Have a good evening."

Katsurou returned the smile, though Izuna could not have possibly seen it. Nonetheless, the Uchiha fingered the sword at his hip and then exited the arena. Izuna was becoming more and more strange…

"Mito says that if we're late to dinner, she might kill us all," Katsurou called over to Tobirama, who glared. The girls were now following a tennis match, their eyes bouncing between the sapphire Prince and the icy Senju. "Either that, or she'll spike our drinks with laxatives."

Tobirama folded his arms.

"INDIVIDUAL BATTLES," someone called. It must've been Shiro, because several people shushed in his direction.

"Sensei, you should do an exhibition match," someone else said. "Toka versus Yayoi."

"Nah, I want Shogo versus Arata."

"Tobirama versus everyone!"

Mariko was so confused now. Life was confusing. Men were confusing. Shinobi and everything they ever did were confusing. Right now, she absolutely despised the mischievous grin that was spreading itself across her brother's features as he strode up to Tobirama.

"How about you and me?" he suggested. Everyone was silenced – perhaps it was because they knew Tobirama was one of the strongest in the ninja world – at this battle challenge. Apprehensively, Mariko began to step between them, because obviously something had happened between these two. Something more than a fist fight.

"You won't pull any dirty tricks this time, will you?" Tobirama raised a brow skeptically. "After all, it wasn't Mito that spiked the drinks last time."

Katsurou's smile never faltered, but his eyes hardened. They were crystalline, like emeralds, unbreakable and unexpectedly cold.

"No, fair and square."

Tobirama simply stepped over to the stadium edge and leapt over the wall, landing lightly in the arena. Katsurou followed, avoiding the hand that shot out for his arm. Mariko only caught the edge of his sleeve, hissing angrily when her brother flew down into the ring alongside Tobirama. First of all, he was still injured. Secondly, Mariko wanted an explanation.

"Would you like a handicap, then?" asked Tobirama, deprecatingly.

"Didn't I just say fair and square? Go all out, brother." Katsurou smirked and patted his pockets, as if checking for something. "I'm all set."

Tobirama touched his face guard absently, as if checking to see if it was still there. Then, he drew a short sword from out of nowhere.

"This is a bad idea," muttered Arata, pacing back and forth.

"They're just being idiots," sighed Toka, sitting down tiredly beside her team. At the moment, every single genin in the stands was crowded around the wall, leaning over to see the battle.

Hesitantly, Toka started the match with a halfhearted shout.

If Mariko thought her brother was not a real shinobi, then she had thought wrong. Years and years away from the anti-shinobi courts of Esmeralda had transformed him. Second Prince Katsurou was no longer a child; not for a single moment did he look like the lanky teen showing Mariko that he could manipulate water into ice.

Then, in the moment when it seemed like Katsurou would actually strike Tobirama, the Senju adeptly manipulated the momentum of his sword of ice, throwing off the path of the blow. Tobirama obviously appeared to be more skilled, and Mariko had the uneasy feeling that if he wanted to, he would've ended this immediately. But he was having a terrible sort of fun, toying with Katsurou.

At the same time, it seemed like the prince was having a grand time parrying with the Senju, in some bizarre manly showdown. It would have been interesting, had Mariko not been worrying her blue hair off.

Meanwhile, Yayoi the purple-haired one – Mariko appreciated the variety of hair colors adorning the gym's occupants – shook her head and told Toka something about the idiocy of men. Toka agreed readily. Arata looked peeved, and the last man who came in late (Mariko forgot his name already) sort of appeared nervous. She wondered if nervous men were suited to be shinobi.

When the battle began to intensify, what with Tobirama sending incredibly large water waves crashing through the stadium, and Katsurou freezing icicles and throwing them like deadly kunai, Mariko was afraid someone would actually get hurt. This was a ridiculous notion, being in the shinobi world, but she was still worried. Katsurou suffered mildly from cuts and scrapes, on top of his newly healed wound, and if she wasn't hallucinating, Mariko saw scuffs and bruises here and there on Tobirama.

They were fighting, and having fun.

She, personally, would not have fun in such a thing. It must've been a man thing. She wouldn't understand, though.

Tobirama was about to come down hard on Katsurou with a deadly elbow strike downwards – Katsurou attempted to build an armor of ice, hoping to shatter the blow – but they were abruptly interrupted by a fire signal from the Hokage tower. A flare was lighted and sent into the sky moments later, from the direction of the gates. Everyone stared.

Katsurou froze, as did Tobirama. The two leapt to their feet and looked into the sky. The eastern skies were smoky with the leftovers of the flare. It was a green one, and Mariko didn't know what it meant.

"Toka, to the Hokage Tower," Yayoi called. "I'll take all the kids with Shogo."

"All right," agreed Toka. "Tobirama, to the gate. Arata with him. Mariko and Lord Prince, please come with me."

Katsurou had barely scrambled out of the arena, following a quickly departing Tobirama, when Izuna returned to the stadium, yelling about someone breaking Konoha's sensory barrier. Again, Mariko couldn't fathom the meaning of this. Sensory barrier? What in the world did that mean? Was there a sensor that opened gates or something?

Tobirama and Arata spared no time. The white-haired Senju, hardly fatigued from his short battle with Katsurou, leapt away, followed by the dark-haired one. They quickly flew from sight.

Toka urgently led them to the Hokage Tower, where Mito was seen on the roof, lighting a reply flare with Etsuko. There was some sort of complicated Uzumaki seal stretching from the tower's core and outwards to the main streets. Sumiko appeared for a split second, then disappeared from the window's views.

"What's going on?" asked Katsurou, joggng to keep up with the fast-paced woman.

"We'll fill you in later," Toka replied, sounding more like she didn't quite understand what the situation was either. Mariko just followed, because that was the only thing she could do. "Mito!"

"They should be cirling the east gate!" she called. Who was she talking about? Sumiko stepped out onto the rooftop, running over to the other two women. "There's too many or us to cover alone, get the Hyuuga! I've got a seal going."

Sumiko and Etsuko set to working on something while Mito scrawled something on one of her intricate scrolls, ink dashing across the paper quickly.

Intruders?

Toka opened her mouth to ask that very question, to find out how many people were invading Konoha, but she never finished her question.

No one had time to react when and a large, dark figure dropped thin air grabbed Sumiko and whisked her away.

* * *

Somewhere after I wrote Team Tobirama's battle, I got tired and wrote BHGE chapter 36.

What is going on?!

WHY IS THIS STORY FULL OF RANDOM ATTACKS?!

The world may never know. Might as well try to eat a tootsie pop in three chomps. Courtesy of Mukurowl and a few others.

Did I mention that Makishima Shogo is evil?

Oh, and future Rogue is handsome, he's got cool hair.

Also, name suggestions for Tobirama and Mariko's daughter?


	12. Lies

Hey guys! Sorry for the long delay, I've been stuck on this one for a while. I've also been plagued with schoolwork and other stuff /totally not freaking out over Naruto ch. 627/ plus I've been drabbling in other stories. Emeralds will have a sequel! It's kind of messy at the moment, but I'm working it out. (It's more like a partner story).

Besides that, here's a chapter! Maybe I'll confuse you guys some more... (bwahaha)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto, because Kishi is a troll and taking ANOTHER break.

**Note: **Updates for this will take much longer than any other stories, due to its nature and length. No worries though - I haven't forgotten!

Big tournament tomorrow ~ off I go!

* * *

**Chapter 12: ****Lies**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ Irrationality._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me." Sumiko stared at the swollen mess that was her ankle. Not once did she even complain of the pain; she simply stared at the bruised joint and shifted the ice pack. The area beside her heel was black and blue, and she'd also sprained in the inside tendons of her ankle to boot. "You've _got_ to be kidding me," she repeated, almost incredulously. "I swear it wasn't this bruised yesterday."

"That's because it was yesterday," Ryouichi sighed, patiently waiting for his younger sister to stop studying her ankle so seriously so that he could wrap in a compressing roll.

"I did _not_ twist my ankle," Sumiko stated flatly.

"Obviously," replied the First Prince, tapping her knee as a cue for her to straighten her leg. "Tell me if this hurts." He took her foot and pressed it back into a position perpendicular to her leg.

Brashly, Sumiko's hand flew out and struck Ryouichi's face.

"Yes, that hurts!" she hissed. "Haven't I been telling you that?!"

"No, you haven't, actually," Ryouichi replied, rubbing his face nonchalantly. If there was anything this lanky, almost effeminate young prince could bear, it was the fact that his one brother and first sister tended to hit people when aggravated. The last sister wouldn't say "boo" to a mouse, so he'd never even considered her a threat.

"Ryo, do you know what this _means_?" Sumiko exclaimed overly dramatically. Despite her exaggeration, Ryouichi knew full well that the fourteen-year-old was devastated. She had a company dance recital the next day, and over the weekend a hunter-jumper competition in the Wave Country.

Sumiko hit her brother again.

"Do something, Ryo!"

"I'm not a shinobi, I can't heal you up with the snap of my fingers."

"Well, _try_," she whined, pulling away from him quickly after he'd finished wrapping her ankle. Sumiko could hardly walk, but nonetheless hobbled into her ballet flats and limped away whilst complaining the ears off of her maids.

Ryouichi, defeated, sat back on his heels and contemplated. He was eighteen, and by legal standards very capable of summoning a medic nin request to, say, Kirigakure. However, such a petty situation would inevitably arouse a few snorts of amusement from the surrounding countries – ah, Hurricane's young prince is so needy that he can't even deal with a minor injury on his own. _And_ it was a call for personal issues, not one for the people.

Kirigakure, sadistically, might say: "Now if you had a grand massacre of 20,000, we might send over a few medics."

Konoha was too far.

Uzushiogakure…was known for their Fuuin, not their medics.

The Wave Country were in practically the same state they were in.

Kumogakure's medical troops at the moment were thin and stretched out, few of them close to the ocean. They had their own issues with the Grass Country, and were not about to spare precious delegates for a mere sprained ankle.

Now. Were there any shinobi in Hurricane? Surely, there must have been. He'd heard of a few that were roughly chuunin to jounin level, which was quite decent for a non-shinobi nation like Hurricane. However, the size of that set was hardly a handful, and they were dispersed throughout Hurricane like needles in a haystack.

_Well_, Ryouichi thought to himself, _I could always use a magnet._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "I would ask you if you've ever killed a man, but I suppose I don't need to ask."_

_ "No, you don't."_

_ "What is it like?"_

_ "Bloody. Most of the time."_

_ "Well, that's a given. I mean, what do you feel?"_

_ "…To be honest, it never gets easier. Hiding it becomes less difficult, but their eyes are what really gets you."_

_ "Has blood ever frightened you?"_

_ "Only twice."_

_ "Twice?"_

_ "When my two younger brothers died."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Everything was red.

Red flew from the Hokage Tower, soaking itself into the bright blue that was Sumiko's hair. All she saw was colors, and more colors, blindingly vibrant as they sped across the village in an indeterminable blur. Movement happened in choppy fragments, each one distorting the one before it. At once, there was a flash of white, then an entire panel of blue – Tobirama – before a curtain of mahogany swept past – Hashirama – followed closely by a series of darker colors that she could not place.

But everything, _everything_, was red.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_It's cold._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"It's _cold_, Ryou!"

"Ice tends to be that way, Sumi." After ordering his younger sister to ice the swollen joint and sit patiently – "I'm not a dog!" she protested – Ryouichi was currently attending to Katsurou, who had taken a nasty fall from his horse and had a bruised shoulder. As characteristic of the Second Prince, he'd brushed it off nonchalantly, climbed back on his black steed, and continued jumping every single wall and fence in sight. Now, he was sore to the point where picking up a pencil hurt his entire arm.

"Chill, Sumi," snorted Katsurou, rolling his eyes.

A knock at the door produced Aunt Tari, toting a ridiculously small dog that consisted of a fluffy body, a fluffy body, and more fluffy body. The pup was completely orange, with a white tuft on its chest.

"I found this little one outside the garden," Aunt Tari said. "Anyone want to adopt her for the time being?"

Sumi, finding the little Pomeranian to be the most adorable thing to ever walk the earth, squealed and held her arms out. As if they were fated to be together, the puff of a dog bounded over to her excitedly.

Ryouichi sighed inwardly, relieved. At least it seemed that his sister's apparent mood swings were subdued for the time being, now that the dog had her attention. He finished up applying a few healing salves to the minor cuts on Katsurou's arm, and then sent him away.

"Don't go riding again," he called as soon as Katsurou made a beeline for the stables, just down the path from their study room. Katsurou's fault here was making the mistake of taking that path, right outside of an airy library with floor to ceiling glass panes. Had he taken a detour, perhaps he would've gotten away with it, despite his current inability to lift up his arm.

The door to the study slid open, and Katsurou dodged a puff of blue as he exited. Said puff of blue was comparable to the puff of orange sitting in Sumi's lap, huffing merrily as Aunt Tari organized shelves around them.

"Mariko, did you bring the documents?" Ryouichi asked.

The girl held out a thin manila folder, filled with sparse, mostly unfinished documents. He thanked her, and she took a seat next to her sister quietly.

The orange dog made a face at Mariko.

"I'm going to call her…Mami," decided Sumiko. When no one reacted, she continued rubbing the little dog's pointy ears. She began chattering away to no one in particular, knowing full well that Ryouichi could multitask and that Mariko, currently in her quiet stage, would not answer. A few nods here and there supplied her with all the replies she needed, and effectively distracted her from the burning ice pack pressed to her ankle.

"What are you looking for?" she asked her brother.

"People," Ryouichi answered vaguely. He was, actually, trying to locate the few shinobi on their island, but it hardly seemed likely that any of them would be medic nin. That, and why would they come to the capital anyway? It was known that the king had had some issues with shinobi in the past.

"What kind of people?"

"Useful people."

Though, in all honesty, Ryouichi had could not ascertain the usefulness of any shinobi on the island of Hurricane at this point in time. He wondered, suddenly, if Mariko had looked at the files. A short glance back at the small girl gave him nothing; her face was neutral and her usual curiosity quelled in a moment of silence.

"Mari, dear, can you bring me that book? It's behind this shelf and I can't reach it," called Aunt Tari. Obediently, the small girl – ten years old and skinnier than a baby deer – wiggled behind some of the shelves and retrieved a few fallen books. Her ability to squeeze in small places did not help her case, because everyone was constantly harping on her to eat more. In a few years, she would gain a healthy appetite, but for now she was content picking at her meals and perhaps stealing some cookies later.

"Amethyst is thirty miles to the east, right?" Ryouichi asked to the air. Aunt Tari nodded, though he didn't see her, and the other two didn't know. The village, known for its small caves filled ot the brim with amethyst crystals – and sometimes, the rare diamond or emerald – was home to one of the shinobi on his list. A kunoichi, actually. This woman appeared to be adequate in taijutsu and some ninjutsu, but nothing else appeared on her profile. _If I really need someone, I guess she'd be the closest_, Ryouichi supposed. _Then again, she's probably not a medic._

By the time he found a medic, Sumiko's ankle would have already healed.

"Ryouichi, if I keep icing it, will it be better by tomorrow?"

"Maybe. Wishful thinking never hurts."

"But no, seriously."

"I don't know."

Sumiko harrumphed and folded her arms, laying back in the cushions she'd pulled from various seats and arranged into an enormous pile in the middle of the study. Mariko sat on the other side, petting the dog and flipping through a few short stories. She was quiet now, but it had been a month since she'd closed her mouth. She was bound to pull from her period of silence soon – they occurred once in a while, but never lasted long.

_Can the Uzumaki _seal_ wounds? As in, sew up broken body parts with Fuuin jutsu?_

Unlikely.

But Ryouichi, being the diligent young prince he was, set about to studying the various possibilities that ninjutsu could reveal to him. He himself had no talent for ninjutsu, and was completely uninterested in the excited workings of Katsurou. As the First Prince, he supposed his few regrets included not being able to become a master horseman like those before him, or excel at anything besides an instrument. He was quite proud of his violin, but he could not shoot an arrow like Katsurou, and he could not dance or ride as well as Sumiko.

"RYOUICHI!"

The prince whipped around to see both girls hurtling themselves behind the stack of pillows, eyeing a spot on the ground warily. Aunt Tari had left the room, finishing up her dusting and organizing and leaving them with the dog.

"What?"

"There is a _huge ass spider_ over here," Sumiko hissed. "Kill it."

The young man sighed, running a hand through his sapphire hair. It would be a long, long week.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ Time freezes over._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Move, and I kill her." A kunai poised to a throat, skin porcelain and unmarked. The tip of the blade draws blood, slicing ever so thinly into her skin.

Hashirama put his hands up.

"I carry no weapons. Calm down," he called in a smooth, practiced tone that exuded calmness and willingness to negotiate.

"Oh? It doesn't look like I'm the one that needs to calm down." A gesture to Tobirama; he was livid.

"What do you want?" hissed the white-haired Senju, drawing a blade.

"Tobirama, stop," Mariko tried.

"_Don't_," said the man, "_move_."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_"I thought you only had one brother."_

_ "I had another. His name…was Kawarama."_

_ "And what happened to him?"_

_ "He died when he was seven years old."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"I'm sorry, but I no longer offer shinobi services. I apologize for any inconvenience," said the woman brusquely, tucking her strawberry blonde hair behind her ears. She was approximately fifty, a few gray hairs peeking out from beneath her tresses — a light, half-blood Uzumaki coloring with a vitality that still ran quite strong — swept back into a messy braid.

"No, ma'am," he said. "I was just wondering if you were a medic nin, by chance. I wasn't necessarily requesting, just…asking."

"I've had some experience," the woman answered. "I am capable of performing medic nin duties, but as I just told you — I don't work as a ninja anymore."

He was dejected. She _was_ a medic, and she wouldn't work.

But she turned to him.

"Why are you asking?"

"My sister has an injury, and she is devastated," he explained. "She is a dancer, and this is her debut in the biggest theatre in all of Hurricane. I wanted to help her."

The woman smiled slightly — her name, Risa, meaning _laughter_ in a lost foreign language, fit her well. Evidence of years and years smiling in pure happiness showed in the lines on her face, causing him to wonder where her brightness had gone.

"I know you mean well, young man," she said, "but I cannot help you. I am truly sorry."

"Would anything change your mind?"

"No." The finality in her tone, the shortness of the single syllable, everything about her demeanor told him that she was not going to heal Sumiko.

"Well…thank you for your time, ma'am."

He walked out the door, the hood still pulled low over his head, revealing only a set of peculiarly green eyes, a prim nose, and a straight jaw. If anything, he hoped that the glare of his glasses had shielded his emerald eyes — he was just another green-eyed boy, inquiring on a regular day.

* * *

Risa, the former kunoichi, caught him in the street.

No, she didn't quite catch him; more like she saved him. Out of curiosity — she was intrigued by the lone boy who sought out her name and did not appear, by his slight city accent and traveler's outfit, to know his way around — she had followed him. Despite her claims that shinobi life was a thing of a past, she could tail the shadows of anyone with ease.

The young man made the mistake of taking the wrong way home, or to wherever his transport was. He walked, unfortunately, straight through the dark alleys of Amethyst's south side, where thugs and other thieving rats were known to jump out from the corners.

He was inevitably attacked, and forced to his knees.

"Throw out all the change you have!" a gruff, bearded man screamed at him.

"Give us your wallet, your jacket, your boots, and any valuables!" shouted a second, shoving the boy down. They immediately went for his pockets, but he surprised them with a short knife that he whipped from his belt.

"You naïve little brat, you don't even know how to _hold_ that knife," spat the first thug, knocking it easily from the boy's hand. The woman prepared to jump in, but as the man pushed the young man back down, and his hood slipped back from his face, she gasped.

All the thieves — five total — took involuntary steps back.

A head of bright blue hair revealed itself from the cape, and the First Prince of Hurricane appeared before them.

* * *

"Your Royal Highness," stuttered the thug who had pushed Ryouichi down. The glint in his eyes told the blue-topped boy that he had no intentions of pulling back even if he faced the heir to the throne.

That was when Risa jumped in, knocking out all five burglars in the span of ten seconds. They hadn't gotten the chance to react when she'd thrown them down, rendering them immobile and unconscious.

"First Prince of Hurricane," she called.

"Ma'am."

"No, Lord Prince," she said, turning a stern eye on him and kneeling. "Do not address a subject in such a manner, please."

"I don't have subjects — everyone is a person of equal standing opinion, peasant or prince. A _subject_ is someone who is forced to be an underling."

"Well then, my Lord," Risa said, standing. "Do tell, why did you hide your identity? You surprised me there, quite a bit."

"I'm not exactly…here with permission," admitted Ryouichi, sheepishly pushing his glasses up his nose. Risa raised a brow, then nodded in understanding.

"I see. And I'm going to assume one of the princesses is the one ailing, according to your story?"

"Yes, that's right. Sumiko."

"Ah, the First Princess. Of course, she dances, how could I forget…"

"I do not wish to bother if you if you choose to remain in Amethyst," Ryouichi told her. "Nonetheless, I thank you for your time, _and_ for saving me. You have a favor from the Royal Court."

"Should I ever need it, that is," Risa said, a pressed smile forming bitterly on her lips. "Honestly, I do not wish to be involved," she said, "but for the young Lord Prince, I think I may have enough chakra left in me to be of some use."

"But, ma'am—"

"Call me Risa, please."

Ryouichi staunchly refused to leave her without some form of polite address, and so "Risa-san" became his travel partner home; along with one private guard, eight horses, one archer, one cavalry officer (plus his squire), and a member of the Coast Guard, all sworn to absolute secrecy from the King.

"Well then, Lord Prince," Risa announced. "Should I happen to fall into trouble with the King for your escapade and shenanigans, I suppose I shall take you up on your offer with the Royal Court."

Ryouichi smiled, genuinely.

"I truly appreciate this, Risa-san."

"It's not every day that I can travel to the capital for free, _and_ meet the Aokami family." She sighed, almost wistfully. The prince wondered if she had issues from the past that deterred her from the path of a shinobi, but did not question it. However, she seemed to read his mind — "It's all over your face," she told him — and began to explain. Ryouichi discovered that despite her closed first encounter, she was willing to open up. It seemed that the strong, ruby seals of Uzushiogakure had worn away over time, leaving a strawberry-gray head on a once-successful kunoichi. (Even so, the sheer life force of her Uzumaki blood washed away most of the grays with a healthy, vibrantly shimmering silver-rose color, thought Ryouichi.)

"Your husband was killed?" he asked, when she offered her story.

"Yes. After that, swords reminded me of his death far too much." She frowned down into the horse's mane, riding silently for a few minutes. "His death forever haunts me; it reminds me that because my skills were not adequate enough — both in combat and in healing — I was no able to save him, in the end.

"We made a promise on the moon. I regret that promise, to be honest. We vowed to protect each other till the end. We swore one another to this fate on the night of a full moon. Lord Prince, do you know what the moon was like the day he died?"

"It was different?"

"It was a new moon. For me, there might as well have been no moon at all. He was dead, and I had failed him."

They were silent for some time, until Ryouichi felt brave enough to ask her where this had occurred.

"This is an old thing. Perhaps you've studied it. The squabble with Kirigakure, twenty-one years ago, at the southeastern cliffs of the sea?"

"Yes. The Eagle Incident," recalled Ryouichi. Kirigakure, for reasons kept undisclosed, had tried to annex Hurricane more than once. However, when the hardy island refused to comply, Kirigakure offered partial occupation. When that idea, too, was turned down, they attempted negotiations regarding representatives being sent to the island to learn from Hurricane's highly successful economic system.

King Hiroto was suspicious. He hadn't the experience of an old king, but he was smart and quick to analyze. Kirigakure meant to spread their spheres of influence, and he was not about to let them.

Refusal led to an attack on the southeastern cliffs, as Ryouichi had stated. A group of secret Hurricane shinobi, a small coalition organized by the state — a weaker equivalent of Konoha's soon-to-be formed ANBU black ops — had been sent on a defensive mission. They'd successfully warded off and defeated Kirigakure's small attack squad. The Mist had underestimated Hurricane's ability to retaliate, and thus faced utterly humiliating defeat on a brutal winter day. Due to the nature of the mission, and certain information that had been leaked to the Kiri nin, the Hurricane group was ordered to kill them. Fifteen Mist shinobi were thrown off the legendary Eagle Cliff, the southeastern drop to the sea that was rumored to be the cliff from the Emerald Eagle story.

It was unfortunate for the Kiri shinobi that the Emerald Eagle was not there to swoop them from their deaths.

After that, Kirigakure had remained passive, attempting to amend the (practically nonexistent) ties between the two island nations. The Water Country was thoroughly frustrated that they could not gain the precious resources of such a prosperous neighbor, but they were pacified for the time being, and only sent nobles over in hopes of alliance via marriage or friendly, mutually beneficial exchanges.

However, the Eagle Incident did not occur without damage to Hurricane's side. Evidently enough, Risa's husband was killed.

"I will never forgive Kirigakure," she admitted. "Which is a fault on my part, because I should have no reason for holding such a hateful grudge. I don't like thinking about it, but I shall tell you, Lord Prince, so that you may learn the truth that your textbooks do not allow you to see.

It was the night before the attack, and my husband was on reconnaissance. All four members of his team returned alive, except for him. And there he was, that horrid Mist shinobi who stank of blood and had the most terrifying face. He killed my husband before my eyes; my husband, Kyoya, had been taken captive, and when I went to search for him, they went ahead and stabbed him. Five times in five vital areas."

Ryouichi inwardly cringed, and was unsure as to what reaction he should have been displaying on his face.

"There is no need to be so tense, Lord Prince. A simple nod will let me know — no, I know you are listening." Risa smiled at her fingers briefly, fingers weaving braid in her mount's course brown mane. "He died an honorable shinobi. I just couldn't save him. I don't suppose my healing abilities are adequate enough for anyone anymore, and they failed me when I really needed them."

"I think," Ryouichi interrupted boldly, "that what's important is that you heal yourself."

Risa looked up sharply.

"If you learn to heal yourself, you will learn to live again. Even if the wounds heal, the scars remain; but they are not ugly scars. They are bookmarks of precious memories that you will never forget. I think that's what's important."

"You are wise for such a young man," Risa said, watching the boy gravely. "While your words have wisdom, they also have much emotion. Be careful with your feelings, child. When you become king, you will realize that this world is full of darkness. It will rip your soul out if you are not careful."

"It hasn't ripped out yours, has it?"

Risa regarded the blue-haired boy, currently donned in his dark cloak and riding slacks. He had chosen a low-key party; plain, dark, and dun-colored horses, officers riding in drab village clothing, and he himself in a traveler's attire. She had noticed that, in their packs, they had city clothing stored beneath the supplies. When they entered the vicinity of the capital, a gradual change of clothing would be made to meld into the city rather than appear like lost villagers meandering through the great Esmeralda.

Here was a young prince who _thought_. And he _thought_ so very carefully.

"I suppose that's right," she answered softly. "As long as the darkness is kept at bay, I suppose that I am strong. For now."

"For your husband," added Ryouichi.

Risa offered a genuine smile.

He thought so very carefully, not for himself, but for the people.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ A point in time is not a point at all. Time is not a line, but a dimension. If you twist and turn it enough, perhaps you'll be somewhere back in time from the future's point of view. _

_ Or, perhaps, you'll stop forever._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

A tear slipped down her face, struggling to grasp at the large, calloused fingers that wrapped around her throat. The kunai was pressed to her jaw. She was choking, and the warm blood that slicked down her collarbone and the bile that rose up her throat was unbearable.

"I said, _don't move_."

"We're not." The long-haired Senju did not move a muscle, only offered his hands. "Tell us what you want."

"Your hearts."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "Hashirama wasn't there when Kawarama died, I was. It was almost sort of cruel, you know? When Itama died, I wasn't there, but Hashirama arrived just as the Uchiha left. Before Itama died, he told us that Kawarama would roll in his grave if we let bygones be bygones and forgive everyone out there._

_ "That's why I never forgave anyone. Not even myself."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Once in the inner circle of Esmeralda, a brief stop was made so that Ryouichi could lay out the rest of his plan.

The archer and the Coast Guard officer would escort Risa to Emerald Palace via the north gates in the back. They would circle the stables and take the least conspicuous route possible; something for which Risa was rather grateful for, because the last thing she wished for was attention.

Ryouichi, without his guise, would pretend to be taking an easy ride through the city, entering through the south — the main — entrance on a new mount he'd exchanged for at an inn. Befitting a prince, a sturdy grey mare of heavy build and draft blood that was so clean that she sparkled a snowy white. He and the rest of his entourage (in the form of his hastily put together guard) would direct themselves back to the palace in this way.

"You've thought about this, haven't you?" Risa asked.

"I've thought about it too much," Ryouichi mumbled. "It took a day and a few hours to reach Amethyst, and now another day and a half back. I've been out of office for two entire days, and my father's bound to be livid."

Katsurou was covering incredibly well for his brother, a transformed bunshin performing the daily tasks of the First Prince with an unbelievable likeness and ease. Despite his appearances, Katsurou was more diligent and attentive than one might have thought. Ryouichi knew that though his younger brother seemed to laze off and ignore all royal order, Katsurou was paying close attention all the details of palace work. His keen eye memorized Ryouichi's handwriting and habits, all the way down to way he rubbed his temples and pushed up his glasses.

And so, Ryouichi worried.

A bunshin could easily be seen through, especially by the king. Their father, Hiroto, was obviously experienced in the realm of ninjutsu, but the extent of which was unknown.

Hopefully, Katsurou was holding his front up.

They reached the palace gates — Risa and the two men had successfully entered the back — when an angry dappled gray mare stormed up to them, leapt the paddock fences, and clopped across the courtyard with much gusto. She flattened her ears at them and made a noise that sounded nothing like a horse.

"The devil," muttered the cavalry officer, reigning in his own gelding.

At the sharp whistle of a skinny ten-year-old, the swift mare turned on a dime and cantered down to the palace doors, nickering eagerly. With unpredicted ease, the small girl clambered onto the mare's back and trotted up to her brother.

"Ryo, how was your ride?" she asked, surprisingly loud for the distance. Plus, she was talking again.

"It was lovely, thank you Mari," he replied, in the same volume. The members of the court looked unperturbed, thankfully. The Second Princess knew very well that this ploy was to be played until the very end, especially in such a public place close to the city.

Upon entry, his horse was taken to the barn — another confidant of any of Ryouichi's personal operations collected the borrowed mare to return to the inn — and Ryouichi entered the general library. All in an instant, the doors were closed and Katsurou rushed into the room. He briefed Ryouichi on the myriad of issues that had cropped up the past two days, ending with "You have a meeting with a Tea Country delegate in thirty", before slouching to his room.

Quite the successful mission, fortunately enough.

This was not the first time Ryouichi had pulled a personal quest. Last year, he had traveled to Kumogakure for a conference with a young lord; a strange encounter, he would say, in a strange situation. The entire trip was three and a half weeks, and Katsurou had pulled his older brother's weight in an astonishing feat.

"You could be the Crown Prince," Ryouichi had said.

"Hell no," Katsurou hissed back.

Moreover, a request for conference with the king had been dealt with efficiently and impressively in-character. Ryouichi had never been more proud to have a partner-in-crime such as that of his brother.

"I'm surprised that went well," sighed Ryouichi when Risa and the rest of his siblings returned after the meeting.

"_This one_," grumbled Sumiko, jerking thumb at Katsurou, "nearly messed it up this time. Dad asked for some documents he had not heard of, and you would've been busted if Mariko wasn't there."

"What happened?" asked Ryouichi.

"Luckily, Mari answered, 'oh I took those' and _pulled them from her pocket_," Sumiko said, throwing her younger sister a glance. "It was like magic. How'd you do that?"

"How _did_ you do that, kiddo?" asked Katsurou incredulously. "I almost had my hide tanned, but you were my hero. Heroine, that is."

"I heard them talking about it later, so I looked for them just in case."

_Just in case_ sounded a bit too good to be true, but they were grateful for the little one anyway. The little gathering ultimately ended in Risa healing Sumiko's ankle. Sumiko, who had no clue as to what Ryouichi's mission had been about, was completely and utterly surprised. When her ankle was fixed up, she squealed and threw her arms around her brother, thanking him over and over for being _her_ hero, just days before her big events.

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "I failed. I couldn't do it."_

* * *

_ "I never forgave myself."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Creatures, writhing and black, emerged from the man's back, masked in animal-like faces. Hearts pumped their movements, to Mariko's horror.

"I'll replace these with yours," hollered the man. "Number one will be the God of Shinobi's heart, and number two will be a Hyoton! Numbers three and four I'll find in Kiri; they've got plenty of Kekkei Genkai to spare there."

Hashirama made his move.

"You'll be stopped, here and now!"

"Ah, I told you not to move, didn't I?"

The knife slit across the blue-haired woman's throat.

* * *

Mariko screamed, long and painful, sharper than a needle. Her wail cut through the Konoha air like a knife through flesh, excruciating and sorrowful.

Her vision blurred as Katsurou fell to his knees, hands shaking, both of them watching their sister crumple to the ground from the man's arms.

Bloody.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "There is no pain like the pain of a loved one's death. It is not like killing a man."_

_ "Because it never gets easier?"_

_ "No. Because it continues to get harder and harder until you crumble. And then…_

* * *

_ "You are nothing."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

She danced like she was the wind, the clouds her shoes and the sun her heart. She was the star of the capital city's famous theatre, she was the champion of the Wave Country's most renowned equestrian competition.

Beautiful and free, she was the First Princess of Hurricane.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ Time stops. Rewinds. Breaks._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Hurricane's beloved star fell to the ground, face down and striking azure hair washed across the floor with her blood. She was stained.

Stained with blood and forever beautiful.

_She is not dead_,_ she is not dead, she is _not _dead._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "I really wonder what happened to Risa's husband. You know, the story she told us."_

_ "Sumi, there is nothing to wonder. He was killed."_

_ "I still feel like…never mind. Forget I said anything."_

_ "No, tell me."_

_ "It's nothing Ryo. Good night."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

She wasn't sure if she saw what happened.

Hashirama was a blur, and Tobirama was like an angry ocean typhoon, breaking the way and smashing everything to pieces.

She felt Katsurou's arms encircling her, and then the two of them were rocking, slowly. A tear dropped onto her hand, and it wasn't her own.

"She's dead, isn't she."

It wasn't a question.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ I think she killed him._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"She is _not_ dead."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Not on purpose. Maybe, she thought he was the Kiri nin. Maybe he betrayed Hurricane. So, she killed him because that was her duty, and she never forgave herself. One, for being unable to save him from turning sides, and two, for killing him._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Don't think about it too much, sis. I'm still here.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "One day, I want to know what it's like to fly."_

_ "Dream on, Sumiko." _

_ "You never know, Katsurou. The glass is always full if you think about it — half water and half air."_

_ "Are you saying I'm a pessimist?"_

_ "Maybe, maybe not."_

_ "Well, I'm not."_

_ "So, do you think I would be able to fly?"_

_ "Maybe someday."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The midst of a typhoon, the eye of a storm,

Let the river horses take you to all but the world,

The unreached mountain watches,

As your emerald heart unfurls.

When you reach the end of time,

And the Hurricane Wolf devours your soul,

Protect your heart and watch your feet,

For the moon sees sins at whole.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Irrationality is pain. Pain becomes fear. Fear becomes a lie. It's all a lie._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

I can't tell if she's lying or telling the truth.

If she's asleep or awake.

If she's here or there.

* * *

If she's dead or alive.

* * *

It's not like anyone would know, since I've never posted it (well, maybe on dA)

but if you check, Risa is the name of one of my KHR OCs, and Kyoya...is a KHR character, lol.

That, and ooooooooh did I just kill someone?

*plays ominous music here*

Hidan: Kakuzuuuuu so oldddd.


	13. Home

I'm waiting for tomorrow's chapter...

Anyway. I am attempting to master what we now call "The Kishimoto". Or, one of the "Kishimoto Techniques".

No, it's not plot-no-jutsu or talk-no-jutsu...you're close though.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto, because I still don't know what the heck Kakuzu's even doing in this story. Oh Kakuzu.

Now I just want to know what he looks like as a younger man...lol. Hidan would so laugh at that.

**Note: **Did I troll you? Half of you?

**Note 2: **To both members of the site and guest anons: I LOVE YOU ALL AND YOUR REVIEWS! Seriously, your reviews make my day!

**NOTE 3: MARIKO has an ASK PAGE on deviantART. Her link will be posted on my profile page.**

**Note 4: **An anon asked me when they would have sex (in BHGE). . . that made my day. Anon, I love you.

**Note 5: **To the other guest who reviews many many times... You are wonderful, please keep reading! Tell me how I'm doing...

(what is a plot).

(no really, what is a plot).

* * *

**Chapter 13: ****Home**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ My tears are your tears._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

It wasn't even a second. He scooped up her body and thrust his black, iron hand through her ribcage for her heart. The amount of blood that splurged from the wound was unbelievable, disgusting, riveting yet repulsive. The organ pumped feebly; she was there, dimly, so dimly.

Mariko willed it to rewind. For the heart to beat a little harder, settle itself back inside the ribcage. For the bones and skin to knit together obediently, and for the blood to clean itself up and pull away at low tide. Then her eyes would flutter open and she would gracefully sweep her sapphire hair behind her ears, as if nothing had happened.

"What the—"

A man with a wild mane of black hair swept downwards with his war fan. The body was dropped, the flesh thudding to the ground with a disgusting squelch. It beat, ever so faintly.

The war fan cracked across the man's face with the force of twenty elephants, sending him flying into the earth.

And then Tobirama was on him, screaming murder, driving his blade through one of the masked creatures. The mask opened its mouth, a gaping maw with a bundle of raw chakra ready to be released. It shot point blank, engulfing the white-haired Senju in a ground-shaking explosion of lightning energy. There was a crackle, a spark, and a splutter. Tobirama's faithful blade pierced fully through the heart, forcing it to a standstill.

Madara's Katon repelled the second mask's advances, and he, too, crushed another heart.

Mariko did not process anything. She vaguely heard the sounds of battle going on around her, but her were shut. She had a pair of cold, cold arms wrapped around her, shaking ever so slightly. When she did risk a glance, eyelids fluttering, she saw the glow of green warming her face.

But it was a speck of green, far, far away.

A lightning bug, flashing on and off, flickering softly.

It blinked at her, silently.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "I'm hardly surprised," she said. "You've always been a crybaby."_

_ "I have not."_

_ "Admit it, Katsurou. You were worried."_

_ "I was not."_

_ "I'm your sister. You can tell me anything."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

A heartbeat.

Another.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_"With Itama's corpse, there was so much blood that I felt sick."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

A flash of red — Mito — distinctly blurred the green lightning bug's iridescent glow. The ephemeral flash of hope and the sound of a heartbeat wrenched at Mariko. She was not sure what part of her body was being pulled, but it was along the lines of a dropping sensation. She wanted to drop and never get up, to lie beside the blue-haired woman and watch the pools and pools of crimson stain her fingers. She almost wanted to push the cold arms away from her body; they were uncomfortable.

But he was shaking, so she gently touched his face and was silent.

Fingers quivering, he picked up his bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "There's a thin line between reality and your dreams. I think that the two are actually connected at all times; you just need to know how to live both at once."_

_ "Sumiko, that's obviously impossible."_

_ "You never know. Kyo thought about it, and Mari seems to live both at once all the time."_

_ "Kyo over-thinks things, and Mariko just appears to be daydreaming when she's not."_

_ "Who knows?"_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Just as the masked creature reached them, he released an immediate shot that splintered the clay face apart into thousands of fragments. The arrow landed, and its tip of a marbled color, hints of delicately shining green among its hues. It was an emerald arrowhead, imbued with chakra.

A fourth creature threw itself at them, and Tobirama cut it off with so much brute strength that he sent it crashing through four buildings. He paid no heed to the fleeing civilians, only took his sword and viciously sliced through the heart-creature. There was a high-pitched whining, and the animal — slick black threads and all — deflated to a crumpled heap on the ground.

Mariko's eyes clouded over; she was once again sharply aware of Katsurou's uncontrollable shaking.

And then: "_My tears are your tears, so you can tell me anything. And I'll tell you one thing — I'll always be here for you. Remember that when you're in Konoha, okay?_"

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "This _proper princess _stuff is absolute junk. Keep your chin up and pretend you didn't just spill green tea all over yourself, and you'll be fine."_

_ "Sumiko, that had no logic whatsoever."_

_ "Who cares? It works, doesn't it?"_

_ "No, not really."_

_ "Oh but it _does_, Mariko."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

She broke away from his shivering form, a pitiful husk of a man who had watched his sister fall before his eyes.

He thought she was dead.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ Follow the path, encrusted with jewels,_

_ A horseshoe of impossible light;_

_ your sight is your creation._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Sumiko hated that poem.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_"I spy, with my tiny eye, a bird!"_

_ "There is no bird."_

_ "C'mon, Katsurou, have some imagination!"_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

My sight is my creation, and if I see her alive then she _is _alive.

Or maybe that's the definition of genjutsu.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "Now listen up, my dear little sister. Rub your eyes a few times and make sure you're not dreaming."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The man went for her again, just to get her heart. But a long, winding seal had been drawn in on Sumiko's skin, and Mito had diligently wiped up the blood with the hem of her skirt, the outer layer soaked through. The seal deflected the man with the iron fists and the flying threads for exactly three seconds.

Three seconds was all Hashirama needed to finish. He was not the God of Shinobi for nothing.

When the one-layered seal was broken, he turned around with an unforeseen viciousness that even the Uchiha would cringe at. The sheer amount of chakra he emitted simply blew back the shinobi. What was his name again? Kakuzu.

A mop of black hair was revealed, olive skin and a bizarrely scarred mouth created a face under the fallen mask. Hashirama gripped the man's throat so hard that barely a gurgle reached their ears. The battle ensued, violent and clashing, until the man was on the ground and Hashirama pressed a foot to his chest.

"Do I kill you, or not?"

"Go ahead."

"Explain it all."

"And why should I?"

Hashirama grew a wooden spear from his palm, and pressed it to the man's throat. The man simply laughed, a low, grating noise.

"I'm not afraid. Kill me."

And then two others stepped up beside the long-haired Senju: an icy younger brother and a man with eyes that could literally burn holes.

He spoke.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ It's dim. The stars are out, but the light is not much. However, it's just enough to see by._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Mito brushed the blue hair back from the woman's face. Hashirama had done it quickly, and he was more exhausted than he looked, but she was reassured with Tobirama and Madara at his side. The Uchiha was sensible when he needed to be, and the sense of danger had sent him flying to the Hokage Tower in what _almost_ seemed like an alarmed state, had he given away any facial expression other than the usual.

There were scars all across the ribcage, and skin was white and tender. The ribs were knitted together weakly, for what he could have done in three seconds. Blood was restored with the help of Akimichi blood loss pills, enhanced with Senju medicines, but it did not help bring her to consciousness. All wounds were closed, and the gaping hole of her chest was filled in, heart delicately refitted. Her throat bore a terrible red gash, and a slightly uneven bump was the evidence of a reconnected trachea and esophagus.

She breathed.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ The Emerald Eagle swooped down and carried the child to safety._

_ "Is she alive?" asked the young prince._

What do you see?

_ "She's dead."_

No. Watch more carefully.

_ "She's…"_

* * *

_**.x.X.x.**_

* * *

Madara reached out and grabbed Tobirama's arm, stopping the blade from falling.

"Don't touch me, Uchiha," hissed the white-haired Senju, jerking angrily away from the red-eyed man. Madara gave Tobirama a look that was part contempt and part doubt, knowing full well that if he let go, the blade would be immediately driven through Kakuzu's last heart.

"It's okay, Madara," interjected Hashirama. "He's fine."

Tobirama threw his brother an accusing glare before stepping back and regarding Kakuzu with disgust. He took a breath, because he knew that his temper was flaring, and it would do him no good to irrationally slice the man to pieces. A glance over his shoulder sent him into a slight panic; Mariko was not with her brother. Katsurou remained on his knees, face expressionless, staring into the ground with a cold disconnection that sent a shiver up Tobirama's spine. The Second Prince of Hurricane was not with them, currently, but somewhere else. His eyes were empty.

"I'll handle this," Hashirama said, taking his foot off Kakuzu's chest and leaning down to stare the man in the eye. "Tobirama, take care of everyone else. Madara, stay here for a moment."

"Don't order me around," the Uchiha simply retorted testily, though his reply lacked any sort of fire behind the words. He stood by his Senju counterpart, silently regarding the man on the ground.

Tobirama watched the two of them; he was not included, obviously. A bit angrily, he turned on his heel and stomped over to Katsurou, who miserably studied Tobirama's shoes with mild interest.

"Stand up."

"She's dead," he said, pathetically.

"Stand _up_," Tobirama barked, grabbing Katsurou by the collar and wrenching the blue-haired man to his feet. "Stand up and open your eyes, you idiot."

"Let go of me." Katsurou brushed Tobirama off of him and stumbled away.

"Then be useful and do something," Tobirama hissed under his breath.

Katsurou merely threw a defeated glance over to where Mariko had run off to; to a still body laying beside Mito, cold and lifeless.

Tobirama folded his arms.

"I told you to open your damn eyes," he said slowly, cornering the taller man. "And look again."

Katsurou did, but he saw nothing. He saw Mariko hold the corpse's hand, rocking back and forth gently, until she stopped and went deadly silent. She went still, so still that Katsurou believed time had frozen right then and there.

A gust of warm air blew past his ear, and he heard the faint rustle of feathers.

An eagle's feather drifted down to the earth.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ I think that the Emerald Eagle was not a spirit, but the prince himself, and that we are all his descendants. The Wolf was just his inner darkness._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

She ran as fast as she could, through the pouring rain and the thundering skies. The gravel path was slippery and stones skidded out from beneath her feet. The panicked mare beside her pulled at the lead rope with a frantic whinny, hooves kicking out as they made a final dash to the barn. About ten yards from the stable doors, lightning crashed dangerously close, and the mare reared back on her hind legs.

The girl was thrown to her knees, rolling down the path, and the horse pounded away, into the now-open barn doors.

A figure wearing an oversized raincoat dashed outside and picked up the girl, thin but strong arms wrapping around the princess firmly.

"You stupid," muttered the older girl dragging her sister into the barn, "don't go running in the rain. Baka."

Once inside, Sumiko dried off the shivering girl with a few towels, draping a horse blanket over her sister's shoulders. They were both sopping wet and cold, huddling in the midst of several warm, hay-munching horses, trying to rub heat back into their hands.

"You stupid," repeated Sumiko, "stirrup-head, what were you doing out there?!"

"Maia didn't come in from the paddocks," Mariko replied miserably. "I was trying to bring her back in."

"She would have been smart enough to find her way to the lean-tos, or any other kind of shelter," sighed Sumiko. She took her little sister's arms and pulled her closer, fiercely rubbing the cold, clammy palms. "What if I hadn't been there, and you fell and hurt yourself?"

"I didn't."

Sumiko rolled her eyes. She knew full well that Mariko was fourteen and could take good care of herself, but she worried anyway. Ever since their mother passed away, she'd taken on a maternal role and was constantly caring for everyone, even her older siblings.

A few marks caught her eye.

"Mariko…" Sumiko caught her younger sister's hand despite the Second Princess's attempts to jerk away hastily. But the older blunette had a firm grip on Mariko's wrist, and rolled up the wet sleeve to find a wrist marred with thin, fresh scars.

"Let go," insisted Mariko, trying to pull away.

"Mariko," said Sumiko seriously, ignoring her little sister's pleas. "You haven't been trying to cut yourself again, have you?"

The younger girl managed to break away from Sumiko, standing and stalking down to the end of the barn aisle. "No," she said, almost too quietly to hear. But, in truth, she was.

* * *

It had only been experimental. She hadn't meant to actually cut herself. Instead, Mariko, standing at midnight in the one of the luxurious bathrooms — but not her own — took out a razor, presumably one of Katsurou's packs, and pressed it to her skin. Nothing happened. She stared at her forearm; pale, porcelain, like an untouched doll. Everything about her was like a doll, with crisp lines and a childish face. She had long lashes and rosy lips, a complexion so pale that she looked sickly. She was gaunt and bony, thin as a baby deer with knobby elbows and knees that protruded awkwardly.

She pulled her hand away, and was surprised to see that the razor caught her skin and dragged slightly.

A sliver of blood crawled down her arm — it was not a large cut, merely like an oversized paper cut that somehow slid transversely across her wrist. Mariko watched the blood, intrigued by its thin, crimson path. It contrasted so much from her pale skin and her blue hair that she couldn't help but watch the cut bleed out and then dry.

Then, in horror, she threw away the disposable blade and washed her hands, cleaning the wound and padding back to bed.

* * *

"Mariko, _no_," whispered Sumiko, following her younger sister. She wrapped her arms firmly around the girl, rocking back and forth slowly. "Don't do that, don't be like me."

Surprised, Mariko turned around.

"Like you?"

"You can talk to me whenever you like," Sumiko promised. She took Mariko by the shoulders. "Okay?"

"What do you mean, _like you_?" insisted Mariko, ignoring Sumiko's words.

Sumiko shook her head.

* * *

Mariko had a terrible wrenching in her gut, and it was half panic and half misery. Curled up on her vast mattress, she covered herself with the duvet and tucked herself among the sea of pillows that adorned her bed.

She'd dreamed of her mother again, but the dream had morphed her mother into a corpse — rotting flesh with maggots crawling all over, disgustingly slow. And then, after that, a flashback of the day before: Sumiko getting yelled at, leading to Mariko being yelled at, and then all she remembered was running to her room, slamming her door, and here she was.

A cold tear slipped unbidden down her cheek, and she wiped it away emotionlessly. Crawling from the warm cove of her blankets, Mariko padded to the master bath — the one by Katsurou's room — and pulled out the blade. She stared at it for quite some time.

It wasn't like anyone would know; after all, Katsurou didn't live here anymore, Sumiko was leaving soon, and Ryouichi was a ghost who robotically dragged himself to the office every day, only to disappear in the office every night. In the morning, he would appear from the office, and then soon after, he would return into what looked like a living hell.

A little slice of red, like strawberries, shining on her thin arm.

A row of little slices, uneven, short, long, thin — never deep — until she had a neat little ladder of ten.

She washed her hands, just like before, and threw out the razor. She pulled her sleeve over her arm and went to bed.

* * *

Sumiko, though wet and sopping and still shivering like there was a woodpecker rattling her insides, tossed a boot off to the side and rolled up a pant leg. Just above her knee, like a neat little tic-tac-toe pattern, crisscrosses of old scars up her leg, some pale and some dark. There was one long slice up her knee; that one was falling at the waterfall, she claimed.

"Sumi, you…?" Mariko touched her sister's knee, as if she had never seen Sumiko oin her life.

"This was right after Mom died," explained the older girl. She had, in fact, either continued to wear longer skirts and pants, or had simply thrown on some slapdash concealing cream that worked just as effectively on her leg as it did on her face. "I couldn't really talk to anyone."

"Not even Ryo?"

"Not even Ryo." And then, Mariko knew, that Sumiko had been hiding something from them for years and years, and she would never tell them. Not even now. It was the look in her emerald green eyes, slightly dampened and a hue darker than the usual.

It was a moment where Mariko wished she had said something. The pregnant pause allowed a silent angel to pass, before Sumiko stood and rolled her jodhpurs back down. She took Mariko's hand and stared at it for a minute or so.

"I'm always here," Sumiko said. "Even if you don't want to talk, I'm still here."

"You're leaving in a month."

Sumiko put on a smile, and it was her striking, usual smile. She had the same eyes as Mariko and the same carefully dished nose, but she was nothing like a little girl's doll at all. Her arms were tanned and she was like a sun goddess, hair boldly swept back in a stylishly messy fashion, lips painted the boldest of reds and clashing scarves thrown on just to make a statement.

"Who put that idea in your head, stirrups? I'm _always _home," Sumiko said. "And even if it's cheesy, this" — she pointed to her heart — "will always be with you too."

* * *

It was nearly midnight, and an eerie silence dropped over her room. She realized that she was the last one left. Ryouichi, as Crown Prince, was chained to his throne on the island. If he had any marital status, it was currently engaged to the island of Hurricane. Katsurou had marched off years ago, finding his way into the heart of some warrior woman who happened to be the daimyo's rebellious daughter. Together, they traipsed across the core of the Frost Country like a mad duo of shinobi spouses, setting fire to bandits' caves and quelling the sources of discontent in the nation.

Sumiko fell through her picturesque princess story, falling into a fated love with a man who was practically the next Daimyo in disguise. And if the Hot Springs Country did not suffer from her presence, then they benefited. Mariko was sure that, ever since Sumiko's arrival four years ago, the Hot Springs enjoyed a pleasant boost in overall _spice_.

And then there was Mariko.

The silence was buzzing; it was not the kind of silence where the wind blows ever so gently as the nighttime crickets creak out a natural rhythm. It was a stagnant air, clogging her ears and suspending her in its frozen stupor. There was a slight bustle from the kitchens below, but she hardly heard them.

She swung out of bed.

A glance in Katsurou's old bathroom had her studying the razors she'd once used to cut herself with. Making a face, Mariko tossed them all in the garbage; no one needed them now.

She was Hurricane's tool — a fishing hook to be cast out to Konoha the very next day — but she was in no way unhappy, not at the current moment. She was afraid, unwilling, and apprehensive, but she was somewhat at peace with herself.

_I don't want to go_, she thought.

_But I want to see the world._

There was that horrid monster mask Sumiko had sent, hanging on the barn door across from Katrina's stall. Katrina herself seemed to know that Mariko was leaving, and had insistently nuzzled for treats after their ride.

There was the pretty horseshoe, dazzling with its many crystals, hanging on Mariko's door. She returned to see it there, the same as always, sturdy and cold, as metal tended to be. A last minute through threw the horseshoe in one of her cases, along with Aunt Tari's book and an emerald necklace that she tucked amongst her clothes.

_I'm always home_,she thought.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ It was unusually cold today…_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

It was warm. While a light snow descended upon the capital city, the blankets shielded her from the night's chill and enveloped her with warmth. The jewel-encrusted horseshoe reminded her that Ryouichi was probably up again, filing away at the stacks and stacks of paperwork that were redirected to the throne's heir. A seemingly endless line of work for a young man who carried the nation's weight on lanky, thin shoulders.

Mariko stared at the doorway. Her gaze strayed to a couple of her suitcases, filled to the brim with belongings. If there was something she wished she could bring, it was Katrina. Tomorrow, there would be time to say goodbye.

_But not forever_, she thought to herself. _Just for now_.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_.x.X.x._

_ It's unusually cold. The wind is cool, almost comforting, but as soon as it encircles me entire body it is frigid and unwelcoming. I'm conscious of a hard, flat surface beneath me – I am not floating away any time soon. Perhaps it would be nice to drift into the air, light as the Eagle's feather. I wouldn't mind being charred by the sun, even if it meant being burnt for a moment. The burning sensation would free me of this cold, hard stone in my core. It pulsates faintly, but it is not a soft rhythm. _

_ Ice beats at my ribs, and it rips my lungs out even though I do not breathe._

_ The world is black and red and white all at once, little spirals of each filtering through what looks like sand. Sound comes through like trickles of water, here and there and not at all consistent. I wiggle my fingers, but find they are heavy as lead._

_ Someone takes my hand._

_ It is a soft, warm hand, soothing like sunlight on my face. It is a familiar hand, forever tender and meek, small and comforting. I'm not sure who it is, but I know that it is the hand of someone I know. I feel it._

_ Am I flying? I feel like floating away is just a matter of releasing myself from the earth, cutting away the belts and straps that keep me from lifting off. Suddenly, I almost resent the soft hand holding onto mine. I will the hand to let go so that I can drift away peacefully, leaving the cold, unrelenting heart of ice in the earth as I become free of all resistance._

_ But the glacier beats at my chest and burns my lungs, as if I have been running for the longest time without rest. My lungs are oddly disconnected, as if I breath through my skin and not through my nose. It is a detaching sensation, not quite pleasant but not uncomfortable, either. It makes floating away seem all the more simple; to let air sift through the pores of my skin and take me with the clouds._

_ Through my grainy filter of light, there is movement. The scrabble of noise is like the crunching of gravel underfoot, or the crinkle of crumpled papers. There is a rock beside me now, heavy and grating. But yet, this rock is familiar, as are the meek hands encompassing mine._

Do you hear me.

_I cannot tell whether it is a question or just words filing through my ears in the structure of a question. Whatever the case, it is uncomfortable – the sound of a voice grounds me, but I want to fly more than anything else. The Eagle is waiting for me, and I'm sure of it. _

_ I recall, vaguely, a handsome face. Ah, yes, I have a husband, don't I? He is brave and strong and quite witty, at that. He and I share a common love for…what was it again?_

_ I cannot remember, and it saddens me. Perhaps, if I float away, I will remember. The air will lift me to a sky of knowledge, and I shall remember._

Do you hear me.

_Again, the voice. I want him to go away._

_ Or is it a "her"? I don't know, they are just words. _

_ The light shifts, as if my little filter of sand has been shifted and all the granules are falling apart to one side. The incoming glare of harsh red and white give way to a painful, sickly yellow. The remains of sand pockmark the image, making a grainy sort of cover._

_ The yellow falls to green, and it is such a wondrous, marvelous green that I cannot help but gasp inwardly. I see the my eyes in the mirror – as bright as emeralds with the soft hues of aqua and turquoise._

_ They're aren't my eyes._

_ No, we all have different eyes. My eldest brother – I cannot recall his face, only his eyes – has the eyes of the Eagle, glimmering and strong despite his thin, almost weak body. My second brother, his eyes are like the forest, bold and keen, like that of a hunter. His are the ones that fade to a deep, thoughtful gray-green, a marbled hue that is the Wolf. Mine are the slightly darker, somewhat like the ocean tinged with its natural greens. I've always liked the tiny specks of light in my eyes; I think they are like pearls._

_ My youngest sister has eyes of the deepest green. They are like the center of an emerald, hidden and reserved as is her personality. But when she smile, they light up like a light filtering through the gem, becoming the most beautiful, magnificent brilliance if only someone should realize it. She is the real hidden gem, to me._

I know you can hear me.

_But I'm thinking of my sister's eyes, how she closes them off and turns herself into a dulled mossy-gray figure of little interest. She is beautiful, and she must know it. I know it._

_ And then I see her face, clearly. While I cannot recall the others' faces, I see hers as clearly as if she was standing before me._

_ But she is looking down on me, deep jade eyes shining with what look like tears. She is crying – but why? There is a hunter beside me, a tall, lean Wolf who looks far too weak and far too broken to be the Wolf of the stories. But yet, he is distinctly that, even though his broad shoulders are slumped over me in a moment of almost-defeat._

_ "What's wrong with you two?" I ask._

_ My voice is like a croak, a grating against my ears. I can hardly hear myself because the ice pounding in my chest is so loud and painful. It is insistent, as if it wants to rip open my ribcage and let my heart burst out. My own voice is almost sour, my throat burning with a strange soreness. It is strange for one's chest to be ice cold while the throat is on fire. Each are so extreme that they feel the same pain._

_ And then it is raining, just a slight pattering. I hear the clouds wail, sad but yet relieved. The rain is a release, and I do not feel like the water weighs me down – a splash to the earth, and I am freed. The burning in my throat dims, and the heavy, arctic weight bearing down on my chest is slightly lessened. The stiff rock to my left melts into living, breathing human, and the hands holding mine with a firm, unwavering conviction give way to deep, emerald eyes._

_ I feel a single raindrop on my cheek._

_.x.X.x._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Katsurou crouched next to Sumiko, not daring to touch his younger sister for fear of shattering her to pieces. Mariko, rubbed warmth into the cold, limp hand, jangling with the jewel bangles and bracelets that Sumiko had slipped on in the morning. The Second Prince slowly and hesitantly crawled over, a hand skimming the blue-haired woman's shoulder.

"Do you hear me?" he whispered hoarsely. When his voice did not come out clearly, only in tender cracks and bits, he repeated more insistently, "Do you hear me?" He mouthed her name – _Sumiko _– silently, hoping for an answer. A glance at Mariko, and he found his own watery eyes reflected in hers, silent tears falling unbidden down her cheek.

She stirred, if only just a flutter of her eyelids.

Mariko curled in close, clutching her sister's hand so hard she feared she might break it. For once, her small hands could hold something firmly rather than grasp weakly at a following link. She held onto Sumiko as if she was holding onto a drifting soul – and she truly was.

A fat tear plopped onto Sumiko's cheek, and again, the eyes under her closed lids stirred.

"I know you can hear me," insisted Katsurou, his voice soft like the wind through the grass.

Her lips opened, just a tiny breath, and she whispered — so quietly that it could have been the wind…

"What's wrong with you two?"

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ She nursed her twisted ankle with an apprehensive, regretful aftertaste in her mouth. _

_ "You'll have to give up the role to your cousin, then," said the King, without much emotion._

_ There was a stiff silence, uncomfortable and thick. And then, she spoke:_

_ "I will dance, even if this ankle breaks."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Did you think…" came the voice, strained and painful, "…that I would leave you so easily? You stirrup-heads."

"Who's the stirrup-head," coughed Katsurou through childish tears, swiping at them. He was the same boy he had been years ago, swinging his legs on a too-high chair, boasting about his victories in archery competitions. "Don't do that."

There was a faint smile, and she realized she was tired. She still felt like a rock. A gigantic loaf of lead, somewhat puffy but hard and heavy. It was rather strange, to think that one could feel like a rock yet have the airiness of a roll of bread all at once. There was no pause to consider her stained dresses or half-dead condition.

The first thing she said upon sitting up — albeit in great discomfort and searing pain — was:

"Where is that bastard — let me give him a piece of my mind! You don't go around stealing women's hearts like that, dammit!"

Mariko was not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry or do both.

_You came home._

_ I sure did, didn't I?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "And when this ankle breaks, I'll stand right back up and dance until I die. And when I die, I'll stand up again and walk on home. You will never stop me."_

_ And he never did._

_ She fell countless times, but she never faltered._

_ Finally, somehow, she miraculously picked herself up and lived._

* * *

She's back, and sassier than ever!

Okay. So.

YES, Hashirama saves the day.

I don't really care why that's such a bad idea, Sumiko needed saving. Yes. Hashirama. God of Shinobi. He is in this story with a purpose!

No, but seriously. Sumiko will threaten Kakuzu's life forever and ever and ever...

Until he has bad dreams and Hidan has to ask him why the heck he's shivering in his sleep...

This is a story of miracles.

This was also ARC 2. I will now start ARC 3, aka the unplanned playing out of arcs that I had not expected, but am now writing.

Oh! And there's going to be a partner story.


	14. Eyes

THIS. SO LONG. WHY.

Kishimoto was a troll this week.

Anyway, I've got a gazillion things I should be studying/working on, so here you go for now! It's long, so read it in bits and pieces if you get tired. I don't even know anymore...sorry if this story is just a confused mumbo-jumbo of stuff. Lol.

I placed 2nd at conference yesterday, whoooo...better than last year, when I just failed right away. I got kicked out first round, lol. This year, I kicked butt! Well, partially because I improved a lot and was second seed.

Anyway. Enough about me (I'm horrible, lol).

NOW.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto, because Kishi's a trolllll.

HERE YOU GO

DUN DUN DUNNNN

* * *

**Chapter 14: ****Eyes**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ It's light outside._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The cat licked his paw, somewhat bored but remaining alert. His keen ears flickered towards the slightest sounds, and the jarring clang of pots and pans sent him hissing and scrambling up his tree. Nonetheless, he watched the entourage of people carefully. All were familiar — he was tempted to follow, but refrained from doing so — except for one.

The one man who smelled like the not-breathing. He was alive, very much so, but he reeked of blood and death and several other things that made the cat recoil.

A twitch of his tail, and the thin feline disappeared.

* * *

"I'm not sure whether I should interrogate you or kill you," Tobirama said, slamming a fist on the table. Toka hushed him.

"Let me do my job, cousin, and you do yours," she hissed quietly, shoving him towards the door as she took a seat across from the cuffed and chained man. Tobirama grudgingly moved out of the dark-haired woman's way, if only to post himself in a corner of the room, a watchful eye trained on Kakuzu.

He was no more than a few years older than Tobirama, really. Younger than Hashirama, but with a wider-set build and a skin toned more olive than the First Hokage's tanned complexion. He had a nest of black hair that draped almost to his shoulders, and his sclera was an odd hue of firebrick red, dark and menacing. His eyes were a vibrant yet faint turquoise that somehow evoked a strange, concentrated focus despite the lack of a prominently visible pupil. Wires pierced the edges of his lips, as if sewing his mouth shut, but not all the way. He was almost sad, trapped, a hand occasionally brushing the frayed wires with a heavy sort of contemplation.

But Kakuzu's eyes told a different story completely. If he talked at all, it was mostly to connive his way around questions.

"Perhaps I should bid the information off on the black market," he mused out loud. "Sell the location of the _hostages_ for national leaders willing to look for them. Who would be in trouble then? Konoha? _Hurricane?_"

Toka paused her rapid scribbling and glanced up at the man. He had an unnervingly deep, gruff voice, and constantly sounded like he was chewing on something. His tone was demeaning and his sewed mouth bent into a sadistic grin.

The black-haired woman paused; she put down her pen and clipboard on the table and folded her hands in front of her patiently. Tobirama had melded into the shadows of the corner, willing himself to stay in one spot.

"So," Toka said, initiating her interrogation as if greeting an old friend. "Where did you say they were at?"

"Who are we talking about, again?"

"Lord and Lady Gen of the Tea Country, and Mistress Tari of Hurricane's High Court." Toka stood, then.

"I have no knowledge of these people you just named," Kakuzu replied simply. He folded his arms and looked menacing; far more menacing than Mariko would have expected from a man cuffed to the chair and the table by a strong Mokuton.

"Ah." Toka primly slid a few documents his way. "You might recognize their faces."

"Never seen them before in my life."

Toka left the photos in front of him before sliding out of her seat.

"Very well," she continued, without much celebration. "I suppose you would rather experience 72 hours of torture instead of answering my questions?"

She leaned down and hissed, "I am far more thorough than any Uchiha you will find in this village, I'll have you know."

Mariko left at this point. She had no want nor wish to see Toka's true interrogation style, and there was another place she had in mind at the moment. Tobirama watched her go, just a flicker of chakra behind the one-sided mirror, disappearing down the hall in a matter of seconds.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_There's a Wolf in me._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The waterfall would have been beautiful, frozen over like a crystalline immortalization of time, but yet it terrified her. She stood at the bank of the pond, studying chunks of ice floating in the frigid water. She supposed that stepping onto the surface had not been such a good idea, but yet after she climbed out of the freezing pond, she stood there and stared blankly at the portion of ice she had just broken. It wasn't her fault that the ice broke; how could she have known that it had been so thin?

But she didn't like the idea of falling, so she guessed that her reasons for standing there like an idiot freezing on a winter day had to do with her sudden loathing for the ice. She accused it of breaking on her, sending her into this wet, shivering mess. It was cold, obviously, and Aunt Tari's jacket – discreetly borrowed from an unattended hook on a wall – did not suffice for the current weather. If anything, her rubber boots were filled with gushing, cold water, and the inadequate pair of breeches she'd grabbed from a laundry pile – obviously not hers – were sopping wet. There was nothing better than soaking oneself in an ice pond on a subzero winter day.

"Mariko! What are you doing out there?!" A tall figure scooped up the fourteen-year-old in what seemed like half-hug half-reprimand. He was twenty this year, and tall and broad and strong.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied simply, her quiet monotone a familiar drone by now. "You're early."

He was early, indeed, for his biannual visit home. Then again, Katsurou cheated plenty of times, finding excuses to stop by his homeland or bring his wife on unnecessary but thoroughly enjoyed vacations.

"Well. I decided to jumpstart my plans, of course," said the Second Prince, grinning eagerly. "I brought my—"

"Your _lovely wife_, yes, I know," replied the youngest princess, somewhat sedately. "Now, I'm cold."

"I can see that."

She was skinny and small, shivering through her very skin to the thin skeleton that somehow held her up.

"I heard you're skipping lessons again," Katsurou said, disapprovingly.

"Not anymore," replied Mariko defensively. "I'm back to studying."

_You're causing us trouble._

Was it a voice in her head, or was it true? Nonetheless, Mariko shoved the thought away and tramped back to the palace. She slipped in the back door, followed closely by her older brother, and shook off her sloshing boots.

"Mariko, honey, don't just leave those there," sighed Aunt Tari, appearing like a magic godmother to swoop all discarded clothing from the ground. If she noticed that the clothing was soaked, she gave no indication. "Katsurou, my dear, welcome home."

"Thanks, Auntie," he replied fondly, smiling. "Have you seen Yuuna? I'd like to show her the archery fields — hey!"

Aunt Tari promptly snatched Katsurou's jacket from his shoulders, spinning him so that he was forced to relinquish the article.

"You're not showing your _lovely wife_ anything until you have a good dinner," the woman said tartly. "I'm sure she would like to take a rest, too. Especially after that long trip." Aunt Tari sniffed, and added: "The girl needs some peace, you know. What with her hustle-bustle of a husband over here…"

Katsurou flushed and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He threw a grin at Mariko, but was a bit dismayed to find that she didn't quite respond. Mariko, sensing his disappointment, offered a small smile in return. He ruffled her hair; she shoved him aside.

There was much excitement in the palace – it seemed that someone else had arrived.

"I swear, this carpet was _not here_ two months ago," came the loud complaint. "Who put this ugly thing here?"

"Hun, I don't think we should be worrying about the carpet," replied an unfamiliar voice, accompanying the loud one. This one was male, his speech laced with a pleasant mainland accent.

"I sometimes wonder how you guys find your way around here," came a third voice, another woman. It was high and light but firm and grounding, also with a mainland accent, intoned with a slightly more northern pattern. Mariko had always liked listening to foreign accents, even if they didn't sound so pretty. She'd long since decided that the Uzumaki women had the nicest voices, and that the Kirigakure men were the gruffest and hardest to understand. Then again, she had never met many other foreigners, especially from beyond the nearby Lightning nation.

"This carpet is ugly, don't you think Yuuna?" Of course, the one who complained about the carpet would have to be Sumiko.

"Well… if you say so, Sumiko-san," the second woman laughed. She had a very nice voice, decided Mariko.

"Maybe we should just leave the poor carpet alone, dear," sighed the man. Now in sight, Mariko could see that he was an extremely handsome man, tall and somewhat thin for his stature, but very elegant and neat. His hair was a deep copper, a tinge of cherry gracing his short cut, and he held himself with an air of grace.

"You know, Ren, how about you just relax?" Sumiko threw her husband a sardonic grin, patting his arm. Ren did not appear comforted, but relaxed his expression with some effort.

Eighteen years of age, and already bossing him around like the head the house. Mariko was not sure if she should be afraid or be impressed. Perhaps a bit of both. She pitied poor Ren, who was constantly harried by his buoyant, enthusiastic warrior of a wife.

"Shoo, shoo, all of you!" snapped Aunt Tari, bustling into the main foyer, herding them all like sheep into a pen. She clucked at them critically, frowning all the way. "Off to dinner, you insolent children!"

"We love you too, Auntie," called Sumiko over her shoulder, grabbing her beloved's hand and dragging him to the dining hall. Then, she spun around, practically yanking his arm off, and exclaimed, "Mariko! I didn't even see you! I have to introduce you two."

And that simply reminded Mariko why tonight's dinner was such a big occasion: Lord Ren of the Hot Springs was to have his first visit at the Palace. Katsurou, on the other hand, had been scheduled to arrive about a week later, but of course, he came to crash the party.

"Ren, this is my little sister, Mariko," said Sumiko proudly, grabbing Mariko by the shoulder and pulling her forward. In an instant, fourteen years of princess etiquette kicked in instinctually, placing a modest smile on her face and prompting her to curtsy properly and politely. _Not too low but not too shallow, dip your head slightly while you bend your knees — right foot behind left, just briefly._

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Ren said, sounding warm but crisp and mature. He bent forward slightly, bowing stiffly, all the while keeping a firm hand on the small of Sumiko's back.

"Oh _relax_," snorted Sumiko, "she's my little sister, not the King."

When both Ren and Mariko owlishly blinked at her, Sumiko scoffed.

"You too Mari," added Sumiko sharply, "you can treat Ren like you treat one of our brothers."

Mariko stared blankly at her sister, flashing the smallest of smiles before dipping into another perfectly executed curtsy, and then proceeding to slip down the hallways to the dining hall. This timing was dreadful. A bare face, slightly sun-tanned but still quite pale for an islander, Mariko sought the comfort of her white mask. She slathered a slab of white across her face and then patted purple-coal shadows onto her eyelids. She looked like a somewhat deformed ghost, but it would have to do for now.

"Take that _off_, silly," came Sumiko's voice as the older girl swept into Mariko's room without so much as a knock. She immediately picked up a towel and threw it at Mariko. "I'm serious. Don't wear that."

Mariko discarded the towel rather carelessly, refusing completely to shed her pastels.

"You're still just as stubborn as I left you, hmm?" Sumiko waited for an answer. When none came, she relented and snapped, "Oh fine! At least let me choose what you're wearing!"

Mariko realized, in horror, that she had been wrapped in a thick, brown wool skirt the entire time, complete with a stableman's collared dinner shirt, mucked with soot and appearing more gray than white. Underneath, a shabby pair of slippers, and over the entire thing, still the same jacket that belonged to Aunt Tari.

She'd met her in-laws whilst wearing such a royal abomination, and curtsied without worry. What was she thinking?

"Here," offered Sumiko, producing one of Mariko's older skirts.

"That doesn't fit me."

"Sure it does," Sumiko prompted, laying it out on the bed. "Doesn't have to be formal, you know."

It was a simple, layered skirt, half of which swept to the floor, while another half was bunched up stylishly at the waist. Sumiko had made it a year ago, for Mariko's birthday. Unfortunately, it had remained untouched for the longest time, and the older princess could certainly tell that it had not been used.

"And you'll wear this one top," Sumiko added, laying an easily over-embroidered top on the skirt.

"I'm not wearing that."

"Then what will you wear?" Sumiko folded her arms and glanced skeptically at her little sister, waiting for her sense of style to be refuted.

"It's weird."

"Yeah, you're weird," retorted the First Princess, shoving the articles of clothing at her little sister. "No" was not an answer for Sumiko, clearly.

Mariko donned the outfit, and not surprisingly, it was a well put-together style, even if the top was a little too crowded for her eyes.

"See? Looks great." Sumiko ushered Mariko out the door. "Would look better without the pastels."

Mariko ignored Sumiko; why did it seem like she was forgetting their homeland already?

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ There is an Eagle in me._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Padding down the quiet hall in her pale, salmon pink ballet flats, the most prominent thought in her mind was that the long end of the skirt kept catching under her feet. Mariko was tempted to hike up the fabric and make a quick dash to the main foyer, slip through the garden and appear almost out of thin air at the dining hall, but she was well aware of Ren and Katsurou conversing behind her. They were shortly followed by Yuuna and Sumiko, who had a grand time comparing the fashion differences between the island nations and the mainland.

She was the outsider.

She was the only one with her pastels painted on, albeit haphazardly and quickly, and no one else acknowledged it. Ryouichi had faithfully patted on the ochre-colored dust on his eyes, giving him a defined look, a slight glow that offset his blue hair. The ochre was light and sandy today, not a dull yellow but more of a vibrant maize hue. He was stunning, but he almost gave it away for a second. The First Prince was waiting at the end of the hall; for a moment, he shifted his weight uncomfortably, and he transformed into an aimless wanderer. That is, until the group appeared around the corner, and he straightened into the outline of royalty, taller than everyone figuratively, though he lacked height physically.

"Lord Prince," greeted Ren, dipping his head respectfully. This was the complicated part, the part where Mariko debated whether or not the future daimyo of the Hot Springs was of higher status than her brother, future monarch of Hurricane.

"Lord Prince," echoed Yuuna, dipping in a low, well-practiced curtsy. Mariko mentally gave her a few points for a curtsy well done, for it must have been hard to sweep so low in those hard, high-heeled shoes.

"Sir Ren and Lady Yuuna, welcome to Hurricane's royal court. My apologies for the delayed greetings, but I sincerely hope you've enjoyed your few hours here so far." Ryouichi smiled warmly; he'd always had a face that exuded tenderness and concern. However, Mariko knew that under his natural softness, he was crudely assessing his two in-laws. Yuuna had been well acquainted with Ryouichi a number of times, now, so the First Prince was mostly slamming assessments on Ren.

The two men were of similar stature — thin but lean, with chiseled features and regal stances.

"It's absolutely lovely here, ouji-sama," chirped Yuuna, an arm comfortably looped around Katsurou's. The bold brunette had long since passed the test, though it wasn't as if Katsurou's choice in a spouse needed to be questioned. He was sensible, and she was an impressively good fit for him. While they were both adventurous and outgoing, she was a high flyer, keeping Katsurou from getting too grounded, while he managed to keep her from floating away too far.

"I am glad to hear it," replied Ryouichi. He answered Mariko's somewhat desolate glance by offering his arm, for all the other ladies had someone to accompany them. Mariko latched onto her oldest brother carefully, as if he might shatter. But of course, he was far more stable than she, and if anything, there was a higher chance that she would've become a mush of slug-like residue than Ryouichi having a nervous breakdown. "We have a fine course prepared, and a series of guests besides yourselves attending. I hope you find island cuisine to be a foreign delight."

"I believe I've had quite a few Mist dishes before," sniffed Ren. No one answered him, except Sumiko, who tugged at his arm discreetly. Mariko was keen, spying this and before turning around to glance up at Ryouichi. The look he flashed at her was partially amused and partially annoyed, which said a lot because Ryouichi wasn't the type to get annoyed.

If there had been a standard list of requirements needed to pass for Sumiko's husband, Ryouichi had it all down in his head. Obviously, there were some things that he was still debating in regards to Ren.

Dinner began subtly, almost like a bug creeping onto one's arm inconspicuously. The teeny plates and opening dishes were finely decorated and small, and grew in size until Mariko had forgotten which course had come before the other, and was questioning why the entrée tonight was so large and fishy (literally).

"Ah, is this currently a trend here? I've seen it quite a lot," Ren commented at desert, casually gesturing to a pastry. "It's borrowed from the mainland." He was referring to the _taiyaki_ — carefully molded sweets, an almost cake-like little treat typically filled with red bean paste, and shaped like a fish. Mariko was fond of these, and found them adorable. "They are quite common and easy to find in the Hot Springs."

"We are always finding the most convenient products on the mainland," Ryouichi answered, loud and fearless. His voice carried lightly, but it resounded with an impressive echo. The King himself sat at the head of the room, watching his son's formal banter with the young future daimyo. "However, it is increasingly difficult to export Hurricane's finer delicacies, such as finely handcrafted agars and baker's goods, because the mainland does not host compatible industries capable of retaining the freshness and fine quality of such foods."

_Score_, thought Mariko.

"We do, however," added the First Prince, "recommend that you try the agar jelly. It's quite popular."

As if to prove his point, Mariko promptly grabbed a platter of desserts in a rather unladylike moment of brashness, and slid it down the table.

Ren regarded both of them with a slight look of apprehension — Mariko couldn't discern whether it was abhorrence or simply an upturned nose at being one-upped.

"Should you care to try," Ren said, "the mainland has a luscious variety of traditional foods. I have not yet seen anything similar to dango or takoyaki here, no? Is there not a Hurricane version?"

"The Crown Prince and I refrain from duplicating any form of culture from the mainland and calling it our own, but rather we prefer to try out the unique bits and pieces of culture that we cannot call Hurricane," Mariko told him flatly. "If anything is to be called _Hurricane_, then it is completely and solely from Hurricane. For example — this agar jelly."

Mariko smiled innocently and gestured with a rather unnervingly serious glance at the dessert plate.

Ryouichi sent her a glance that screamed, _Perfect catch, baby sister!_

To the right of Ren, Katsurou looked horribly amused, and Yuuna was caught between defending the poor mainlander and accidentally snorting her drink in laughter. Whatever the case, Ren was quickly falling down the Ryouichi Scale of Worthiness and Appropriateness, and he was not serving his side well.

Ren, reluctantly, backed off, and the rest of the meal proceeded calmly. At the end, he ran a hand through his carmine-burgundy hair and hung at Sumiko's side wordlessly. Even in his brooding silence, his eyes coldly measured up Ryouichi, who was thanking some of the other guests personally. For Mariko, she personally thought that this visit was rather boring; when Yuuna had visited for the first time, the entire dinner was a riot. Ren, however, had a sort of dampening effect on the entire situation.

King Hiroto approached them — he had been rather inactive for the past year, leaving events such as these up to his heir's planning, since the young prince excelled in those areas — and greeted the two mainlanders with much gusto.

"Lord King," both murmured, one bowing until all one could see was a head of dark red hair as he kneeled, and the other gracefully sweeping her mint-green skirts in a low curtsy.

"You may rise," Hiroto said dismissively. He was, in all honesty, not much for formality. In public cases, this was required, but at home, he was lenient. Even so, all four of his children never failed to robotically repeat the formal bows and curtsies when called for, because the actions were so firmly ingrained into their minds and bodies.

The king smiled warmly.

"Dear Lady Yuuna, how are you faring over in the Frost? Is the weather vastly different from ours, or is it similarly frigid over on the mainland?" he asked the brunette.

"Oh it's surprisingly warm this year," replied Yuuna eagerly, engaging into an easy conversation like putting on a glove. "I believe, for once, Hurricane is colder than the Frost!"

"Oh Father, it's _snowing_ over there," snorted Katsurou, rolling his eyes.

"Katsurou," said his wife, "at least the waterfalls aren't _frozen over_."

The two began a teasing, and so Hiroto discreetly redirected the conversation to the more recently newlywed couple.

"And how are the Hot Springs?" If Hiroto gave any indication that his first impression of Ren had not been all the best, he did not show it. Mariko noted that Aunt Tari's aide was waiting patiently — and very unobtrusively — behind the king, waiting for his attention to divert from the conversation. Mariko feared that the girl would be waiting for a while.

"Splendid, Your Majesty," responded Ren, looking like a peacock ruffling his feathers. He seemed to fill out his lean frame and broaden his shoulders; Ryouichi, standing staunchly beside his father, did the same in a more discreet manner. It was a silent match between men, two royals who battled with wits and body language. "We're lucky to enjoy some nice weather. It tends to get rainy, but the Hot Springs tends towards a humid climate."

"The universe tends towards chaos, doesn't it?" mused King Hiroto, smiling at the young man. His comment seemed out of place, but Mariko knew exactly where he'd directed it. She was painfully reminded of some chemistry lesson or the other, and promptly ignored this reference. Instead, she assumed that he was alluding to the conflict between the future daimyo and his own son. "Son," continued the king, "are you fond of the hunt?"

"Certainly," replied Ren, face lighting up. "The foxes of the Springs are the swiftest of the mainland."

_Certainly, he says_, Mariko sourly mocked to herself. _Oh shush. _Now she was just being arrogant.

"Splendid, child," boomed King Hiroto, too loud for the context of the situation. "My sons and daughters shall invite you to a grand foxhunt tomorrow," he announced. "How does that sound?"

"It sounds marvelous, Your Majesty," replied Ren with comparable enthusiasm. "My deepest thanks for your invitation!"

_My deepest thanks for your invi— who even says that? _Mariko thought to herself. Silently, however, she slipped to Ryouichi's other side, a small, unnoticed figure. _Oh well._

Ryouichi sent her a sidelong glance. He excused himself from the conversation, leaving their father to continue conversing jovially with the two couples. An extended arm proffered an easy escape, and so Mariko latched onto her brother with a swift sweep of her dragging skirt. (She told Sumiko that the dress didn't fit, but she hadn't meant that it was too small; it was just the opposite.)

"That was absurd," muttered Ryouichi, a speedy hand flying up to push his glasses up his nose. He usually didn't angrily shove his smart-looking lenses up his face with such viciousness, but he was considerably peeved at the moment.

"He's cocky," Mariko offered simply, shrugging. Ryouichi glanced down at her, and his face slightly melded into his usual, soft self. He then poked her in the side, laughing when she squeaked in surprise.

"And what are _you_ wearing? The Sumiko Setup?" He may have been a thin man, but he was sturdy enough to shoulder a frustrated shove from his fourteen-year-old sister.

"Better than trousers," replied Mariko, frowning.

"True."

"So. Do you have a plan for tomorrow?" Mariko dodged another mischievous poke — "Stop poking me!" — and swatted him away, trying to find out exactly how he felt about their new husband candidate. She figured that this didn't quite make sense, since Ren and Sumiko were already married, but she supposed that it was fun to evaluate the new brother-in-law nonetheless.

"I usually _do_ have a plan, Mariko," deadpanned Ryouichi, dodging her when she attempted to reach up and fix his shaggy hair.

"You need a haircut."

"So do you."

She grimaced, and he grimaced, and then they burst out in laughter.

"So?" she prompted again. "The plan?"

"Ah, yes, that." Ryouichi was quiet for a few moments, contemplating. "I know: run him into the ground."

"That was more evil than usual," Mariko noted, suppressing the urge to giggle. Ryouichi was a tactician — he was much more likely to plan an outrageously overdone, over-calculated plan in which a surprise attack was formulated, or the river was somehow redirected into the path of the hunt. Whatever the case, Ryouichi's plans were the complete opposite of his usual sensibleness. His plans of doom were, in a word, _funny_.

Well, running Ren into the ground sounded pretty funny, too.

"So you're going to chase him around?" Mariko made a face, arching a brow and sidestepping a skillfully timed poke. She squeaked unintentionally, and Ryouichi snorted with laughter.

"No," he said.

"No?"

"You are."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ Here I am, this is me._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

It was not a convenient time to be acting up.

But, being a horse — a horse that didn't want much to do with Ren's mount from the mainland — Katrina completely disregarded this fact and decided to grab the bit and buck a few times.

Mariko, who appeared delicate and small, held on with an unexpectedly mighty effort.

"Your horse is excitable," stated Ren flatly. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

_Oh, you're concerned for me, how nice_. Mariko scolded herself; he was simply being kind, that was all.

"I'll manage, thank you."

They set out with a group of six hounds, noses to the ground and diligently snuffling through the tall grasses like they always did. This was a routine Sunday, and they were loosening their muscles for a possible chase.

Katsurou reined his big black stallion in close; Katrina snapped at the other horse.

"Rocks, Mari! Your horse is such a—"

"Oh quiet, stirrup-head," snapped Sumiko, catching up on her surefooted palomino. The horse was absolutely striking, with its golden coat and silvery mane, flowing in the wind. A perfect partner to the stunning Sumiko.

_More perfect than Ren_, Mariko sniveled to herself.

"Let's look by the river," Ryouichi suggested, astride his elegant copper horse. The chestnut gelding was just like him — tall and lean, alert and incredibly aware of all surroundings. The horse was like a deer, skinny and slightly knobby-kneed, but quick and agile.

To her dismay, Mariko realized that they were now comparing horses.

Ren, of course, had "the Springs' currently booming financial state to thank" for the transport of his horse to Hurricane. He sat with a sort of refined ease atop his lovely white stallion — to which Mariko scoffed silently, _there's no such thing that's not a white horse, his skin is dark, therefore he is a type of gray_ — with reins in one hand, while the other rested on his leg casually.

"My good mount Kriha enjoys a decent chase," Ren said.

Mariko was beginning to wonder how, when, and why Sumiko fell in love with this man.

Yet, her sister was completely doe-eyed around him, and he softened considerably every time she linked an arm around his. That is, when he thought no one would notice. Mariko, however, had a penchant for sneaking around in her flat, old, leather boots that had long since lost their incessant squeaks.

"Hurricane terrain is rough," Katsurou warned. "Listen carefully when we tell you there are rough patches about."

"I'm sure Ren can handle it," Sumiko defended. "Right, honey?"

Ren threw his beloved a winning smile.

Perhaps he was not so bad…

_We'll see_, Mariko told herself. She glanced at Ryouichi, who was skillfully keeping a blank face. His chestnut fidgeted under him, sensing the disguised unease in his rider. The Crown Prince kept a steady hand and soothed the animal, patting its neck reassuringly. Mariko wove her fingers through Katrina's thick black mane, untangling the knots that had gnarled themselves ferociously through the reins. The mare's mane was so long that Mariko was getting things stuck in it, and it was not just the regular burrs and flakes of hay. She made a mental note that she'd see to cutting it soon.

The hounds sniffed yipped enthusiastically, and they set off at a brisk trot. A few local huntsmen and young lords were accompanying them, including a few ladies that enjoyed a good outing. The group set off at a steady canter, crossing the flat, grassy field with ease. The weather was better than the day before; slightly chilly, but clear.

"This is rather informal, isn't it," commented Ren snidely. Most of the group chose to ignore it, save Sumiko, who told him that they were there for the ride, not the actually hunting and dragging of a poor fox.

The hounds caught a scent, and took off.

Katrina, being the stubborn, forceful horse that she was, snatched the bit and followed at a flat out gallop. However, she didn't fail to bump rumps with Ren's gray stallion, Kriha, and causing a commotion.

Both Ren and his horse didn't like being outrun, and thus, the chase began.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ The limit exists._

_ Or does it?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The steep but crumbling stone wall loomed before them, and if the three other blue-haired siblings had anything to say about this hunt, it would be that it was far too fast for comfort. The youngest of them, quiet on foot and bold on horseback, stuck to her horse like a burr and did not hesitate when the mare launched over the wall without a care in the world.

Ren followed successfully, smiling to himself when his horse cleared the wall with a foot to spare and catching up to Katrina with a few long strides. Sumiko, Yuuna, and Ryouichi, whose horses were lighter and smaller, slowed down and paced their way to the wall, clipping over it neatly though lagging behind. Katsurou, who rode the biggest horse of them all, waited a few strides to let his big hunter gather himself for the leap.

"The footing here isn't atrocious," noted Ren, as it was supposed to be ugly terrain.

"It gets worse," Ryouichi called when the rest of them caught up a little ways.

The dogs took up a new direction, howling and barking gleefully as they pursued a strong, fresh scent. They wove through the forest, and unfortunately for Mariko, Katrina felt like jumping over every single twig and stick and bush that happened to be in their way. The blunette considered herself lucky that her horse refrained from hitting trees at the last moment.

Whatever Katrina decided to do, Mariko simply hung on tight and stuck there for the ride. In fact, she hoped that the hounds would bring them to a difficult hunt route, particularly the one with the river and the ditch and the absolutely enormous old bank that hardly anyone could jump onto. Katrina could bowl down anything in her path, and she could also fly over it if needed. She had the strong, rounded haunches of her river horse heritage, and she was not below leaping creeks from bank to bank.

One hound picked up a bigger trail, veering towards the river. Here, the water was not as wide as in the city, and considerably shallower.

Katrina's ears pricked forward, and she tugged at the reins. Mariko, gripping tight with her legs and sitting deep in the saddle, felt the horse's hind end coil beneath her, as if reading to spring outwards at the touch of a heel.

"There's a river coming up," shouted Katsurou. "You okay with jumping it?"

He was talking to Yuuna, who agreed readily. Ren and Sumiko were already pushing their horses to the bank, racing towards the water fearlessly.

"Sumi, there's a ditch beyond the river!" Ryouichi shouted after them.

"You think I don't know that!" Half her voice was lost in the wind, for she'd already turned her face back into her palomino's silvery mane, and was matching her husband stride for stride.

Kriha the daimyo's horse pounded furiously forward, reaching the edge of the river and leaping magnificently to clear the entire thing.

Mariko, grudgingly, admitted that he was a fine equestrian and had a skillful horse.

But could he outrun Hurricane's river horse?

After everyone leapt the rushing river, they found themselves descending a slightly muddy ditch. Katrina pulled her head up and sat on her haunches, sloshing through the mud and sliding to the bottom. Unlike the others, who got bogged down in the mush, the dappled grey mare easily kicked free of the earthy trap and cantered away.

Ren's "white" horse was soiled.

"The Springs tend to have more steep, muddy landslides due to our heavier rainfall," he said at one point.

Obviously, he was unfettered by the landscape so far, and thus forced them to the "wacky bank that has a stupid fence at the top of it", according to Mariko and company.

And it truly was a strange bank — lofty and square, a steep ascension to a rise of land hosting a hostilely tall fence.

No. Really. The bank was _huge_.

Not that Katrina cared, really. She sort of just sat back on her haunches and launched herself six feet in the air, scrabbled to get a hold of the loose dirt at the bank's surface, and then took three quick strides to the angry-looking fence (which she popped over casually). All the while, Mariko tucked her hands neatly into the crest of the mare's neck, poising herself lightly and securely in the stirrups.

Ren galloped and galloped and — Kriha slid to a surprised halt, right at the base of the bank. The stallion snorted it at incredulously. He'd been able to clear everything before this, so why couldn't he get over this new obstacle?

Simply put, the bank was just far too large.

The rest of the group pulled up, glancing at the hounds and Mariko on the other side of the fence, up on the higher slope of land.

"How did you even _get_ up there?" Katsurou waved, half gaping half grinning at his sister.

"I jumped."

And then, Ryouichi appeared almost magically on Mariko's side of the fence, seemingly disappearing behind a tree and reappearing at his youngest sister's side.

"You coming?" he asked, his face the picture of boredom.

Mariko could not tell if Ren was trying to keep himself from glaring, or if he was just extremely uncomfortable. Whatever the case, the last two island Aokami siblings had one more point on the young continental lord.

Too bad for him.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

****_"How do you feel?"_

_ "I feel awful, stirrup-head. Can you see? I'm not sure you can see."_

_ "I can see."_

_ "Is it just me, or is my throat not lined up correctly?"_

_ "Oh, deal with it!"_

_ "Katsurou, you were the one sobbing over me like an idiot. Mariko over here was a rock."_

_ "I think Katsurou was the rock."_

_ "Anyway, has anyone contacted Ren? Oh Mariko, don't make that face, he's not that bad."_

_ "Last time I remembered, he didn't open the door for you."_

_ "Shush, stirrups. That wasn't a big deal. It's a door!"_

_ "He was also kind of rude to us."_

_ "You are remembering things from _years_ ago."_

_ "Uh. Like three?"_

_ "Four."_

_ "Whatever, he's still rude."_

_ "You're just messing with me now, aren't you?"_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Ren's horse must've paced that bank for about ten minutes before giving up and following the group around Ryouichi's shortcut.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_"Maybe."_

_ "Do you _all_ hold a grudge against Ren? He's a darling, really."_

_ "Ugh. Don't call him _darling_. He's like the picture of a greedy Prince Charming."_

_ "So you all hold a grudge against him?"_

_ "Nah, I'm good. It's just Ryo and Mari that have issues with him. Dunno why."_

_ "Mariko?"_

_ "He didn't open the door for you."_

_ "Will you stop it with the door!"_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

His horse was very, very muddy. It was quite amusing to see him refuse the offers of stable hands and gruffly lead his horse to the bath stalls by himself.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "Well, Mariko, think about it this way. At least he's nice to me."_

_ "Is that supposed to have some hidden meaning that I'm not seeing?"_

_ "Mari, what Sumi means is that Ren is not a fat, ugly old governor from an obscure corner of the Hot Springs Country, nor is he a crazy Kiri nin disguised as a peaceful Grass farmer. That is ugly. Or old. Or insane."_

_ "Shut up, Katsurou, my throat hurts talking to you."_

_ "Then why are you talking to us?"_

_ "Go away."_

_ "Nope."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

He did, however, offer to wash down Sumiko's palomino for her. He then proceeded to make a decent bran mash for the two horses, which earned some points for him but then made Mariko glare because he hadn't made enough for everyone else.

But that was okay; Ryouichi hauled in a sack of barley and a bucket of apples, and they made their own.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "You two tire me. Ren is a good guy, okay? He's nice to me, he loves me, and he's sweet."_

_ "Ugh, I'm getting cavities."_

_ "Katsurou, get out of here. Anyway. Mariko, can you at least tell me _why_ you hold a grudge against him? And _don't say the door thing._"_

_ "The door thing."_

_ "Mariko! Seriously! He's nice, okay? I don't see your fiancé being nice to you all the time." _

_ "He opened the door for me once." _

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

At night, when the couples receded to their bedrooms, Mariko had no want nor need to follow them and their evening activities, so she retreated to her own room.

She found that her window was open, and it was once again as cold as the Frost on a good day. Mariko ticked off the points that Ren had earned and/or lost that day:

1. He was rude.

2. He was snobby.

3. Okay, so he wasn't rude. He was actually quite the gentleman.

4. He was really snobby.

5. But he made bran mash.

6. And he gave Sumiko's horse a good rubdown.

7. But he's snobby.

8. He's _so_ snobby.

9. No really, he's so snobby he could be…a snob.

10. He's snobby to me and to Ryo.

Mariko realized that she really couldn't come up with anything besides the fact that he was arrogant, a little stuck-up — looking down his nose at her all the time — and just plain cocky.

But he was a cocky gentleman.

She was confused.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "I don't see him doing anything else. You know all of our etiquette training? You should expect at least the same amount in return, you know."_

_ "I don't think he's a princess."_

_ "Mariko, I kind of want to hit you, but I can't reach you."_

_ "You can hit Katsurou."_

_ "Ow! Hey, no fair."_

_ "Katsurou, you're like a big baby. And Mariko, seriously. You say that Ren is annoying—"_

_ "He's like a spoiled, snobby brat."_

_ "—but I don't think this Senju of yours is any better."_

_ "He just doesn't socialize. Much." _

_ "Are you really defending him?"_

_ "No, not really. He smells good, though."_

_ "Mari, can you give me an answer of substance?"_

_ "Well, he opened the door that one time…"_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Did he really open the door? Probably not.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "Seriously, my throat hurts."_

_ "Then go to sleep, little sis."_

_ "I'm not little anymore, Katsurou."_

_ "You're teeny. C'mon Mari, let's get out of here and leave this lovesick little lady alone."_

_ "I am _not_ lovesick. Can you just contact Ren? Please?"_

_ "If he opens the door for you."_

_ "Yeah, yeah, we will. Sleep tight, sis."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Sundays, for Mariko, always had a bad aftertaste. She enjoyed the freedom of her day off – from studies, that is – but simply could not relish in the quick fall of dusk that ended her one-day vacation. Dismounting, she landed on her toes and used Katrina's shoulder to steady herself. Habitually, she unclipped her helmet and slung her crop under the saddle's girth billets so that she wouldn't have to hold it. After running the stirrups up, she led Katrina back to her stall and allowed the mare to cool down, rubbing a towel over the mare's damp, thick winter coat to prevent a chill from clinging to her.

"I have this terrible crick in my neck," she heard Katsurou complain to his wife. "I swear, it was definitely that carriage ride last night."

"It _was_ bumpy," agreed Yuuna, hefting a saddle across the aisle.

"I think I slept like this." Katsurou sat down on a tack trunk and made an awkward attempt at leaning his head on the saddle rack beside him. "Uncomfortable, huh?"

Yuuna laughed, and told him to move so she could put the saddle down.

"You're ridiculo—" Yuuna broke mid-sentence and paused, whipping around suddenly and staring right past Mariko. "Katsurou."

"I know." From seemingly nowhere, he drew a small crossbow and stalked to the edge of the stable doors, absolutely silent. Mariko had no idea what was going on. Katrina's ears quivered, and she nickered in apprehension.

"Hey, girl," murmured Mariko, petting the horse's soft muzzle. "It's all right, what's wrong?"

Katrina pulled at the crossties and vehemently kicked out, clattering in place. Mariko tried to shush and calm the animal, but she was too riled up to pay attention to the short blunette.

"Sumiko, get in here!" hissed Katsurou, waving insistently.

"Wait, what? What are you doing with the bow, seriously Katsurou! You could injure—" Sumiko broke off when a myriad of arrows came flying her way, and they weren't from Katsurou's direction. Immediately, Katsurou drew three arrow shafts from a mysteriously concealed pack, and aimed. He swore under his breath; he didn't have enough arrows, and there was no time left.

A magnificently bright fireball came spewing across the way, skimming the edge of the barn so closely that it almost caught fire. Leaving the barn slightly charred, the fireball proceeded to set flame to a dozen arrows, successfully charring all of them to pieces. Only two or three strays landed in the grass with dull thuds, arrowheads burrowing into the hard winter soil.

The fireball was quickly followed by another, obviously from the lips of a Hot Springs shinobi.

"Duck!" And then Ren was grabbing Sumiko and running, because more arrows were flying this way and Katsurou was slinging shot after shot with tremendous speed to no avail. While his arrows met the attacker's head on, he had little to none left, and could not match the quantity, even with Yuuna supplying a second bow and arrow.

The slim redhead and his sapphire-topped wife crashed into the barn, effectively startling every single horse.

"You're a shinobi?" exclaimed Katsurou.

"In my spare time, yes," came the fiery, somewhat sardonic reply. Ren grabbed his horse by the reins, unclipping the crossties and leaping on his back. "Lord Prince, you are a shinobi as well, correct?"

"When I have the time, sure," snorted Katsurou, mounting his own horse quickly. "I can make a fountain or two."

"Come with, then. Your Highness?" Ren cast a glance back at Ryouichi, who simply melded out of the shadows like a ghost. "Do you prefer ground tracking or mounted battle?"

"I am not a shinobi, Lord Ren," replied Ryouichi carefully. Interestingly, Ren looked surprised. "Hurricane is not a shinobi nation, and I am only trained in the basics of cavalry style charges."

"I see." Ren changed his target to Yuuna. "Lady Yuuna?"

"Gladly."

"You're not coming," protested Katsurou.

"Oh yes, I am." Yuuna hopped up on her horse before he could tell her not to, and had somehow produced a terrifyingly large battle axe from her pack. She rolled up a large scroll, tucked it into her shoulder pack, and took the reins. "You are not leaving behind someone who can throw a battle axe more accurately than anyone in all five shinobi nations."

Katsurou glowered briefly, but allowed it. He had married a warrior woman, and this was the price he had to pay. No longer was he in Hurricane, obligated to protect the women simply because he could. He hated to admit it, and he grudgingly accepted, but sometimes Yuuna was the one protecting him.

"Why do we—what's going on?!" demanded Sumiko, hands on her hips. Alive and well, she was glad to be out of the line of fire, but she and Mariko were horribly confused.

"Someone just tried to kill you," Ren said, looking like murder. And he did, indeed, exude a black aura of anger, so much so that Mariko felt as if she could sense his intentions. Maybe it was his _chakra_, and however that shinobi energy flowed was being directly translated through his emotions.

"I can see _that, _but where are you all going?"

"To kill them," Ren answered simply, spurring his horse into an urgent canter. Within moments, they were gone.

Sumiko huffed angrily, but Mariko remained silent, a hand on Katrina's neck. The mare had long since calmed down, and was just slightly tugging at the crossties in anxiousness.

Perhaps, just a little bit, Ren had earned another point in the book. Mariko glanced at Ryouichi; his face was unreadable.

11. He's a brave warrior.

12. He's protective.

13. He's snobby, but he's willing to jump into danger for a loved one.

14. He's really snobby, seriously.

15. But he loves Sumi, so I suppose it's all right.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "I'll come back later with dinner."_

_ "Tell me how the interrogation goes, Mari!"_

_ "I didn't watch it."_

_ "Well, go find out, because that man is going to have a piece of my mind!"_

_ "Sure, Sumi, sure."_

_ "I'm serious!"_

_ "I'll make sure he opens the door for you."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Toka slammed a hand down on the table, but Kakuzu didn't even blink. In fact, he hadn't relented a single centimeter in the past three hours, and Toka was tired of it. Mariko feared that the woman was about to snap the man's neck, however impossible it seemed. To her surprise, closer inspection allowed her to see that the man who had practically killed her sister did not appear to be a bad man. He dressed in dark, menacing colors, with a cloak that almost shouted "evil villain", but he was not ugly or fearsome in a engrossingly disgusting way.

He was tall and dark, with wide-set shoulders and a square jaw. His skin was toned a natural olive, a shade of tan just similar to Hashirama's sun-toasted complexion. His hair was black, long enough to brush his shoulders, but not messy. He had a straight nose and a set mouth, accompanied by teal eyes with their strange nonwhite whites; all of his features pulled into a frown, but if he simply relaxed for a moment, he exuded a presence of security and solidness. He was not scary in those moments, nor was he nice. He was like a mountain, firm and just…_existing_.

It was almost comfortable, his _existing_. As if he was a pillar, forever steady and supporting, so that if one was to fall, he would never fail to catch. On the other hand, he was definitely an angry soul, brows forever creasing into a frown. His very essence was angry, forceful and raging at all times, even when he appeared calm.

Perhaps, Mariko supposed, this was the heart of a warrior. A man who tricked himself into believing he was constantly on the battlefield and needed to have a weapon in his hands.

"_Where_," hissed Toka, for what seemed like the fiftieth time.

There was no answer, and Kakuzu simply shook his head. His scarred mouth pulled into a sad smile, and he shrugged. Toka's genjutsu had hardly brushed his consciousness, and upon realizing that he had an iron mental defense, the woman had become slightly rattled. She'd tried genjutsu after genjutsu, but the man had countered them with a surprising ease. Toka almost grudgingly resorted to an Uchiha, but the Sharingan had failed to evoke any sort of reaction as well.

"If I were you, I'd just stop," Kakuzu droned, yawning. "I've far too much experience against your petty genjutsu."

If Tobirama had been standing in that corner two seconds ago, Mariko had not noticed. He appeared out of nowhere and stalked up to the dark-skinned murderer, eyes glinting a dangerously bright scarlet. He glared at Kakuzu with an unreadable seriousness, as if searching for a weapon in the other man's eyes.

"Speak," he ordered, apparently casting a genjutsu that Mariko could not see.

"I'll tell you this," Kakuzu replied. "You may have trapped me in your genjutsu, but you're not making me talk whatsoever, got it? Your genjutsu has nothing on—"

The man went frigid, and the hand that was habitually at the scarred, sewn tissue of his face dropped rapidly. He muttered a confused oath, before struggling to maintain eye contact with Tobirama.

"Toka, just use _that_ one," Tobirama muttered to his cousin, who looked rather put off.

"I was completely capable of—"

"I'm not a patient man, Toka. Get it done."

Toka then proceeded to elbow the white-haired Senju so hard that he would find a nasty bruise on his ribs later. She was not a woman who liked to be one-upped, and she was also not a woman to be treated with a tetchy attitude. If anything, _she_ was the one with the fierce manner, always ready to slice an interrogation subject to pieces. Toka didn't like it that Tobirama butted in, but left it as it was for the moment.

Tobirama promptly left the room, closing the door a bit too harshly than he should've, slamming it for good measure. He stalked into the hall to find his little blunette waiting like a somewhat lost deer, meandering here and there while she waited for him to come outside.

"You been here a while, Shorty?"

"No, not long. I came to check on Toka."

Tobirama nodded, gesturing for her to follow. Mariko trotted after him, taking one and a half strides for every one of his.

"Have you gone to see your sister? How's she doing?"

He was awfully talkative, she thought to herself absently. But besides that, he just looked kind of mad.

"She's okay. Talking a lot and stuff," Mariko told him. "Katsurou went to inform the Hot Springs legislation of the, uh, you know."

He stopped, suddenly, and she nearly ran into his back. Her nose was practically buried in the fabric of his coat, and she backed off hastily to avoid a potentially awkward, embarrassing scenario. Then, on a whim, she threw her arms around him and hung onto the Senju as if her life depended on it.

"Shorty." He turned so that he could face her, a hand placed fondly on a sapphire-topped head. "You okay?"

"Are _you_ okay?" she returned, slightly muffed through his jacket. She ventured a squeeze, pressing herself a little closer. He winced, and she realized that his rib was more badly bruised than she thought. Toka was a fearsome woman, and was not to be messed with.

As if reading her mind, Tobirama quickly said, "It's nothing. At least she didn't break my ribs this time."

Appalled, Mariko gave him a wide-eyed, baffled look. He snorted and ran a few fingers through her blue hair.

"But Shorty," he continued. "What are you doing?" Staring down at her, Tobirama watched the blunette carefully extricate herself from him, unwrapping her arms and reluctantly stepping back. She flushed a little bit and folded in on herself, slightly embarrassed.

"I thought you needed a hug."

"Well," he supposed, "maybe."

She lit up at this, but he glowered.

"Don't do that in public," he growled, almost menacingly. At this, Mariko boldly stepped up to him and grabbed his arm, leaning against him. It was oddly comforting, this position. She realized that being in close proximity of the tall albino Senju made her feel secure and safe and so very warm.

_What _am_ I doing? _Mariko wavered, still holding Tobirama's arm but not really leaning on him anymore. But, what _was_ she doing? Did he find it strange that she was suddenly so attached to him? Had something happened between them?

No…not really.

Yes, really.

No. Yes. No? No. Mariko began to confuse herself. What _had_ happened? What was she doing? _What is going on? _Sumiko? Was Sumiko here? No. Sumiko was dead. No! Sumiko was alive! Definitely alive! Sumiko was…Mariko was…

"Shorty. I think you need to rest," Tobirama said, though his voice sounded increasingly distant, as if she was hearing him through a glass pane. Sounds came through in waves, oscillating between volumes. "Shorty? Hey, you listening?"

A shock of fatigue hit her like a train, a brick wall that she slammed into with extreme delay. Mariko could see flashes of things she should have processed ages ago — holding Sumiko's hand, the fleshy bump of her newly healed throat, a bloody chest, red, red, red, Sumiko dying…

"Shorty!"

And then, without even realizing that she'd fallen, Mariko was in Tobirama's arms, being carried to his room. He was brisk and urgent, but at the same time his touch was tender and careful. Gingerly, Tobirama rolled back the covers and set down the girl cradled in his strong arms. Mariko reached out and touched his wrist; he paused.

"Rest," he said.

"No, I was going to—"

"Going to rest," he supplied, tucking her in with the utmost care.

"—ask you to stay," Mariko finished. She then frowned, mostly at herself, because her mind was muddled and fuzzy. What was she thinking about? Of all things, she thought of a brick wall, hitting her an unimaginably painful speed. But, her natural logic told her that she should _not_ have hit that wall, but instead, she should've soared over it on Katrina's back. Katrina. Where was Katrina? Mariko swore she saw Katrina out the window.

No, it was Katrina in the pasture.

No, Sumiko in the pasture. What was she doing there? And Katsurou and Ren and Ryouichi and just about everyone else she could possibly imagine. It was a warm, sunny Hurricane day, and Mariko was four-years-old, clinging to the hand of her mother. The weather was beautiful, ideal for a royal family outing, but Mariko was sick. Her throat was sore and she had a thick, wet cough that scared away their noble neighbors for the time being. She downed a bitter concoction that was supposed to heal her, but Mariko doubted that it was working. Her head ached with the force of seven suns, rays of heat pounding on her forehead and pulsating all over. The pretty green fields were blurring into a mass of earthy waves, a splotch of jade against a sky-blue blur of paint. Blue blobs, supposedly her siblings, bobbing all over the place, making her more and more dizzy.

And dizzy she was, falling over suddenly.

She was dizzy, she fell over suddenly.

Suddenly, Mariko fell, dizzy and disoriented, only her mother's hand managing to ground her for a few seconds.

"Stay," she murmured weekly, eyes struggling to stay open.

"I'm staying, Shorty," answered her mother.

No, that was definitely not her mother.

And then she realized that she was dreaming, a headache slamming against her skull forcefully, and the hand that was wrapped firmly around hers belonged to Tobirama. The pretty green fields melded into a soft darkness, a neutral gray that defined Tobirama's room in the dark, with only the remnants of evening sunlight filtering through the curtained window to provide light.

"Are you?" she asked.

"I am," he reassured her. _Staying. I am staying._

He laid the back of his free hand on her forehead, which was burning up. She suddenly relished the coolness of his hand, like a soft wave of ocean breeze washing over her, soothing her discomfort. Tobirama thumbed a lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear as he continued applying a gentle flow of chakra to her skin. It was delightfully cool, a subtle ice to her burning fever.

She heard the ocean and saw the ocean, but at the same time, she felt that it was raining. No, not felt — she smelled the rain, the cool afterglow of a storm, rolling through the sky. He smelled of trees and rain and, as always, of fresh linen. This time, a little bit of the wind and terrain, but clean of any dirt or blood from battle.

"I'm going to get you something eat, okay?" He began to shift.

"Don't go," she weakly murmured, trying to break through her lovely hallucination of green fields and family reunions.

Tobirama sank back down into his position, never letting go of her hand. She caught a glimpse of his eyes, which remained on her, slightly worried. Mariko's gaze fell to his chest, where the soft blue of the shirt he'd changed into lulled her into a quiet, drifting sleep.

The grass was soft beneath her bare feet, and though the wind was strong, a pair of arms wrapped around her and kept her from flying too far.

**_.x.X.x._**

_ Sleep tight, Shorty._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

It was still dark, a lonely lamp glowing outside the house and a couple of fireflies blinking sleepily. The little flying lights buzzed about with no particular aim, whirling in slow, lazy circles as their hind ends glowed fluorescent yellows. Their constantly winking signals appeared like miniscule beacons in the dark, quiet and soporific. She wanted to go back to sleep, mesmerized by the lights slightly dimmed by the lonesome lamp, but she found that her eyes were no longer heavy.

The bed was empty beside her, and she rolled over to see the time.

Two in the morning.

Mariko buried her face in a pillow, hoping to fall back asleep until the sun rose, but simply the scent of the bed's usual inhabitant kept her awake. She supposed that since she was not going to sleep again any time soon, she might as well just get up.

Swinging her feet around, Mariko sat up and contemplated the time.

Still two in the morning, give or take a minute. She'd hoped to pass the time staring at the clock, but obviously such a technique was attempted in vain. But where would Tobirama be at this hour? Last she remembered, he was stroking her hair softly, and arm wrapped around her.

Mariko slipped on her sandals, which she had discarded at the door, and straightened out her wrinkled clothes. She had not changed, and thus deemed it all right to go outside as long as she didn't look too messy. Padding outside, she meandered down the halls and absently ended up at the kitchen. There was a clatter of dishes, and she froze, curious as to who was inside.

"You find anything?"

"Yes." This second voice was Toka, definitely. But she was tired and groggy and didn't sound quite pleased.

"Whereabouts?" asked the first one – it was Hashirama, actually – before offering Toka a cup of coffee. She declined, and it sounded like they sat down at the roundtable. A chair scraped quietly across the hardwood, and Mariko heard a telltale creak as Hashirama turned towards the door. "Mariko, dear, you may come in."

Almost sheepishly, the blunette pushed the door open and peeked through the threshold.

"I couldn't sleep," she said lamely.

"It's all right," Toka replied, "come sit next to me." The older woman patted the spot next to her, and Mariko willingly obeyed. "Would you like to listen in on our impromptu info session?"

Mariko slid into the seat, folding her hands on the table and offering an ear.

"Well," Hashirama said, "where's that brother of mine?"

Mariko shrugged. "I don't know, I think he left a few hours ago."

"He's missing out," Hashirama sighed. "He'll want to hear this."

"Now," Toka continued, "we'll just continue without him. Mariko, would you like anything to eat or drink?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Mariko vaguely regretted declining, because she'd missed dinner and hadn't had anything since. Her stomach would most likely begin rumbling soon.

"Well, we have information on your Aunt and the Lord and Lady Gen," Toka informed her. She nodded solemnly at her audience of two, and then, "They are in the Hidden Stone Village."

"Hidden Stone Village?" the two echoed.

"The Earth Country?" inquired Mariko. Toka shook her head.

"No, this is _Ishigakure_, a completely different shinobi village altogether."

"They're the ones in the undeclared nation, right?" Hashirama pulled out a file and browsed through it, shaking his head. "No, this is Iwa. We're talking about…_Ishigakure_?"

"Yes," confirmed the dark-haired woman. The nation is currently undeclared, but is affiliated with the Earth because they are neighbors."

"So basically, they copied Iwa and made a Hidden Stone Village rather than a Hidden Rock Village?" Hashirama said, brow creasing.

"Yes." Toka pointed at the map in Hashirama's manila folder, and he pulled it out to spread across the table. Mariko gaped at the map, which unfolded to an immense surface area. "Right there, next to Ame," Toka said, placing a finger on a small country nestled between the Earth and Wind nations.

_I thought I knew this map well,_ Mariko thought randomly. Here she was, completely stumped by the fact that this nation existed, and that there was a new shinobi nation formed inside of it. Well, then again, this country was nameless and undeclared, so she supposed it made sense that she'd never learned of it. Geography was not her forte, even though she quite liked traveling. _I like traveling _now, _but not before_, she told herself. That didn't quite make sense, because the only traveling she'd ever done was this trip to Konoha. _I like traveling around Hurricane_, Mariko mended. _I'm just confusing myself again._

A knock on the kitchen door, and Katsurou peered in.

"Do we have a plan to go to Ishi?" he said.

"You were listening in, weren't you?" accused Toka, though she meant no harm. Katsurou chuckled and let himself in, sneaking around Hashirama like a little boy who knew he'd done something wrong, but was overly excited about his sneakiness.

"We'll send a rescue group there," Toka told him.

"No, I want to go," Katsurou protested. "I've been traveling for a good while, so I'd like to continue."

Toka exchanged glances with Hashirama, who had not yet voiced anything of the matter.

"Then I want to go to," Mariko suddenly blurted. Everyone stared at her.

"No," Katsurou and Toka both said at the same time.

"You stay and look after Sumi," Katsurou said firmly.

"Ren's coming for her," retorted Mariko, now forced to support her little outburst – why was she so good at getting into messes? – though she had no idea what she was doing. "Besides, I want to travel."

Do_ I want to travel? I don't even know._

"No," repeated Katsurou, with a finality that would not be questioned. The Second Prince folded his arms, and from then on out took on the authority stance that mirrored King Hiroto's. They were, after all, father and son.

"Katsurou will go to Ishi with an elite Leaf squad," Hashirama declared. "The rest we'll deal with in the morning. I kind of want to sleep."

Toka laughed. "Of course, cousin. We should all go to bed, it's late."

And Mariko would've liked this, had she been able to sleep that night. Instead, she doubled back to the kitchen, where the map was still laid out, and pored over the nations for a good long time.

She realized, with a start, that the sun had come up, and she was tired again. Her eyelids were heavy and she had inadvertently begun nodding off.

"Shorty, you really need to sleep at regular people times," sighed a familiar, deep voice. He scooped her up, like he usually did, with a gentle, affectionate ease. "I don't know what to do with you."

"Me neither," mumbled Mariko, ignoring the tickle of her nose as a portion of his fur collar brushed her face.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_"I demand entrance through this gate."_

_ "Sir, I'm sorry, but—"_

_ "Excuse me, but do you _know_ who I am?"_

_ "Sir, please hold on a moment. Let me get a higher official."_

_ "I see no reason for the delay. The delegation of the Hot Springs Country will tear down your gates."_

_ "Sir, pardon the inconvenience but we have no idea—"_

_ "I request conference with your daimyo, this is outrageous!"_

_ "Sir, we are a _shinobi village_, our leader is the _Hokage_."_

_ "Oh just let him in, child."_

_ "But Sarutobi-sama, he's…"_

_ "It's fine. Let him in."_

_ "Sarutobi-sama, if I get in trouble with the higher-ups…"_

_ "You can blame me, it's fine. Sir, please come this way with me. I will take you to the Hokage Tower."_

_ "Finally, a man with sense. Tell me your name, shinobi."_

_ "Sarutobi Sasuke, head of the Sarutobi clan. It's a pleasure to meet you."_

_ "Surely. Well, as expected of the renowned Sarutobi, I am pleased to see that you can read the situation far better than the average guard."_

_ "Well, sir, we try. We really do."_

_ "I'm sure. Now tell me, how much longer until my entire delegation can get through the gate?"_

_ "I…am not sure, sir. I will see to it that they get through."_

_ "Very well."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Hey, Tobirama-sensei, my dad told me to come get you." Hiruzen, on the porch, with a gigantic watermelon in his arms, requesting for the Hokage's brother's presence.

"What's up?" asked the white-haired Senju, carrying his sleepy fiancée. If Hiruzen found this strange at all, he didn't say anything – he was smarter than that.

"There's a weird guy at the gates, and my dad just let him in."

"What weird guy?" Katsurou popped out of the living room and danced onto the porch, looking far too peppy at such an early hour.

"I dunno, he was all important and stuff," provided Hiruzen.

"All important and stuff," echoed Tobirama flatly. "What does he look like?"

"Um, he's got hair like dirt, but it's like the dirt in the old—"

"Saru, that explains nothing."

"Um. He's got reddish hair and is super important and stuff."

Tobirama glared daggers at his student, but stalked out the door nonetheless. Mariko stirred slightly at this movement and awoke to a hazily spinning environment. Her nose itched at his fur collar, and she patted it away from her face. He glance down at her.

"Mornin', Shorty." He set her on her feet, hands firmly around her waist to make sure she was upright. Seeing as the blunette was quite woozy and not fully awake, they stayed in this position for a minute or two.

"What's going on?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. One hand instinctively reached for him, grasping his navy-blue jacket to steady herself. There was a cloudy heaviness to her, the kind that came with an interrupted sleep.

"Saru says there's a foreign man at the gates, and that I should investigate. Come with me?" Tobirama nonchalantly extricate her fingers from his jacket and stepped away. She made a face, but didn't protest at this action. Mariko simply nodded and followed the white-haired Senju, glancing back at the boy who was currently peering inside at Mito cooking something delicious.

They intercepted Sarutobi Sasuke and the unexpected guest at the village center — Hiruzen must've moved fast, Mariko thought — just as they passed the main market. Almost immediately, Mariko did a double-take, and the foreigner's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

"Ren!" she blurted, almost wondering if she was still asleep.

"Lady Princess," replied the Hot Springs lord, "what…what are you doing here?"

"She lives here," deadpanned Tobirama. "And you are?"

Ren puffed up like a peacock, bristling uncomfortably at the Senju's tone. Sasuke threw a glance between his son's teacher and the foreigner, deciding to back away slowly. He threw in a brief, "I'll catch up with you later. It was a pleasure meeting you, sir," before dodging away into the growing near-noon market crowd.

"Lord Ren of the Hot Springs," announced the redhead.

"Ah." Tobirama clearly still didn't understand the connection. "What brings you here, Lord Ren of the Hot Springs?"

Mariko was unsure as to whether or not the bubble in her chest was a giggle or a cringe. Ren visibly reddened, just slightly, simmering with his arrogant sort of pride. The blunette tugged Tobirama's sleeve and whispered, "He's Sumi's husband."

The albino's brows arched upwards, slightly intrigued by this statement.

"Well then, Lord Ren, this way." He waved in the general direction of Konoha's hospital, and they backtracked the way they came. Ren, rather offset by Tobirama's indifferent demeanor, huffed and demanded that they first allow his delegation to enter the village. Tobirama waved him off, not particularly worried about the traffic jam that was currently building up at the village gates. "I could do that," he said, shrugging, "_or_ I could take you to see your wife, whose heart was gouged out and nearly ripped from her chest, had it not been for my brother's healing ninjutsu…oh, around…yesterday."

Tobirama stared pointedly at Ren, who opened his mouth and then closed it decisively. He was a slim, redheaded fish out of water, looking rather odd in his dark green travel jacket, riding trousers, and spurred boots. Then, throwing an accusatory glance at the Second Princess — Mariko couldn't figure out what wrong she was doing in this situation, but let it go as a Ren thing — he followed Tobirama rather docilely.

The aroma of something sweet and tangy reached them, wafting temptingly from near Sumiko's wing of the hospital. When Hiruzen bobbed in and out of a few rooms, passing out sweet cakes and lusciously sugar-topped pastries, it was evident that Mito was here. The elegant Uzumaki herself emerged from a few rooms down and waved at them. She paused, studying Ren, and then ducked back into Sumiko's room.

"Hiruzen, you're quite charming, you know that?"

"O-oh, really?"

"Mmhmm. C'mere, let me tell you something."

Tobirama made a face as he knocked on Sumiko's door; Ren squirmed impatiently at the sound of his wife's voice, almost like a dog needing to go outside, or a little boy that wanted candy.

"Come in," came Sumiko's voice, light and healthy.

As soon as Ren tried to push past and enter first, Tobirama slammed a hand across the doorway and blocked the other man with his arm. Then, deliberately slow, he glared and then allowed Mariko to enter first. The blunette decided that the butterfly in her throat was a giggle. She slipped into the room and found Sumiko conversing with Hiruzen, who was trying to decide which pastry was the prettiest so that he could give it to the First Princess of Hurricane. Mito, at the little sink and kitchenette of the private hospital room, was washing her hands and preparing an inevitably delectable lunch.

"Oh Mari, would you like some—" Sumiko's eyes widened, and she caught sight of her husband. "Ren!"

He rushed forward then, and embraced her without a word. Hiruzen wiggled awkwardly out of the way, ducking behind his sensei and offering a pastry. Tobirama took a mini apple pie and popped it in his mouth, earning him a brief scolding from Mito.

"How did you get here so fast?" Sumiko asked, but Ren was too busy studying the scar across her neck and the still-healing lump that was a hasty melding of her throat. It was almost endearing, the silent way he was worrying over her, his mask of arrogance dropping away and revealing the man that loved his dear Sumiko. Mariko doubted that she'd ever seen this Ren before, and knew that she probably wouldn't see it ever again. He was soft and weak, half defeated and half relieved. What seemed like shock from the almost-death of his loved one was evident on his heavy shoulders and hanging head; he was, in truth, more worried than he let on. Mariko wondered what exactly Katsurou had written to him.

"You idiot," he murmured, almost inaudibly. The room was deadly silent, and it was awkwardly crowded. Then, clearing his throat, Ren informed her that he'd been in the area — in some temple that was promoting some sort of charity for the poor in surrounding nations — and that the letter to Hot Springs had been allowed to drop in early. They'd ridden like hell was on their heels until reaching Konoha.

Either that, Mariko thought, or he teleported.

Whatever the case, at least he cared. She supposed that Sumiko would be the only one to break his hard shell. Though he may not have been friendly to everyone else, he was a good guy. Everyone was good, if only they tried to keep it that way.

"Well," Sumiko said. "I was telling Hiruzen here that he was very charming."

Ren and Tobirama both made faces.

"I was giving him girl advice."

Mito tried not to snort as she offered the future Daimyo of Hot Springs a choice of pastries — upon glancing up at Mito's face, he quickly deduced that declining was not a good idea with this woman — and commented, "I'm sure he will have a very successful love life, hmm?"

Hiruzen flushed and tapped Tobirama's arm.

"Sensei, can we go train?"

"Maybe."

Hiruzen decided that he no longer wanted to be in the company of these embarrassingly nosy adults, so he sheepishly exited the room. Ren reasserted his mask of formality and dropped his voice somberly.

"I want to know who did this."

"He's been interrogated and imprisoned," Mito answered calmly.

"No. I want to see him."

"I don't think that's a good idea," the Uzumaki warned, setting down her tray of goods. "The Hokage is settling issues on this matter, and we are currently focusing our efforts of the rescue of Lord and Lady Gen of the Tea Country, as well as your wife's aunt, the Lady Tari of Hurricane's High Court."

"And where are they now?"

"Ishigakure." Mito trusted that Ren knew his geography; he did, and thus nodded in understanding.

"Then," he decided, "I will accompany this rescue group. The Hot Springs will fully involve itself in this matter, simply because we are—"

"Lord Ren," interjected Tobirama, "I do not believe that to be a wise decision. Do not act so brashly."

Ren threw Tobirama a stony glare.

"I can choose to do whatever I wish. As future daimyo of the Hot Springs, I have the right to mobilize my forces."

"Ren," Sumiko broke in softly. "It's okay, really."

"Sumi," he said, a little too harshly, "he hurt you. I will do whatever I can to stop whatever was that he was working on. This…_monster_ that almost killed you." He softened, lowering his voice. "You almost died. You almost left me."

She looked down, her glance brushing his before focusing on her fingers, knotting and unknotting the bleached white hospital sheets.

"First," Ren said, standing up and staring at all of them, "I want to see the man who did this to Sumi." He pointedly looked at Mito, who did not flinch a bit. When she simply folded her arms, unrelenting, he almost imperceptibly shrank back and then addressed Tobirama. "I will join this mission, as a husband, an ally, and a fellow shinobi."

Tobirama exchanged glances with Mito, who pursed her lips but nodded.

"You will join Inuzuka-Hyuuga Platoon One," said Tobirama, hardly rattled. Mariko could tell, however, from the hard set of his jaw and the tension to his shoulders, that he was not at all pleased. Most likely, it was because Katsurou also wanted to tag along. "They are leaving in two days."

Tobirama muttered something about an unorganized mission and a hastily put together team, but did not show any expression on his face. Ren, seemingly pleased with his, sat back down next to Sumiko and took her hand gently. She appeared tired, head lolling to the side on her pillow, eyes half-lidded and glazed over. Mariko realized that Mito was on Sumiko's other side, applying some sort of intravenous painkiller with a needle and a carefully mixed solution that was chemically activated with the application of chakra.

"She's going to be sleepy for a while," said Mito, "but it's only to kill the pain. Her ribs are still knitting, and her throat is probably on fire all the time. Poor thing won't stop talking, either."

Ren said nothing, only let his stiff stance drop into a defeated slump as he stroked Sumiko's long, brushed back hair. He was like a sunset against a fading blue sky, his coppery hair contrasting with her cerulean tresses. He, too, was young. Too young for death and too young for such a shock. Mariko realized that he was just like them, just like Ryouichi — a thin boy with too much pressure and expectation ladled onto his shoulders, weighed down with stress.

All he wanted was a few minutes of peace.

Mariko and the rest gave it to him, slipping out the room quietly and heading back to the Senju compound. Mito broke off half way, heading to the Hokage Tower to tell Hashirama the plans, and the other two walked home in silence.

"Shorty, you have an annoying family," Tobirama said bluntly, upon reaching the main house.

"What's that's supposed to mean?" she snapped, glancing up at him.

"Your brother is stubborn, your sister in stubborn, your brother-in-law is stubborn," Tobirama droned, as if listing a compilation of complaints.

"This is coming from _you_?" she retorted, frowning. He brushed off this comment coolly, continuing on about how her family was full of stubborn people — including Mariko.

"I've yet to meet your oldest brother, so who knows," Tobirama finished, throwing a dry smirk her way. She frowned, turned to him, and then poked him in the abdomen. He scowled at this unwelcome strike, and grabbed her arm when she tried again. "Stop it," Tobirama hissed, snatching her other hand and scooting out of reach at the same time.

"You look ridiculous," she quipped. Mariko then regretted saying anything, because he yanked her closer so that they were face to face, noses almost touching. She vaguely wondered if she was going cross-eyed from trying to focus on him, but then glanced uneasily to the side.

Tobirama released one of her hands and tilted her chin up, lips momentarily brushing hers before he let go completely and began to walk away. She flushed, slightly angry and slightly embarrassed, and maybe a little surprised — okay, a lot surprised (pleasantly) — as she stumbled after him. Mariko clumsily grabbed his jacket, nearly tripping and falling on her face in the process.

"Well, Shorty?" he asked.

"Well, what?" She bit her lower lip and glared up at him. Then, boldly, she snatched his fur collar and pulled him down to eye-level. The little smirk that had been on his face his whole time remained, widening just a hair. In a unexpectedly tender gesture, one hand came up to cup her cheek as he kissed her, a teeny bit longer this time.

"Satisfied?" he said gruffly, straightening. She flushed and harrumphed, grabbing his arm.

"Fine," she said shortly, feigning a grudgingly content attitude.

"Fine? Is that all I get?" Now he was just playing with her, and he knew that it bugged the little blunette. Tobirama spun Mariko into an elegant dip, the kind she recognized in dramatic movies and plays, but never really fully comprehended could be possible in real life. He pressed his lips to hers, lingering. Her hands unsurely wrapped around his neck, and he pulled her close. "Now what do I get?" he asked, pulling away.

"Decent," she muttered sharply, though she had folded her arms around him and was burying her face in the scent of his fluffy collar.

"Decent," he echoed, scoffing slightly. "Sure."

He swooped her up into his arms, for what seemed like the hundredth time, and sauntered back to the house for a well-timed lunch.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "You idiot, don't die on me."_

_ "Ren, who's the idiot here? I have the God of Shinobi on my side."_

_ "And if you didn't?"_

_ "Then I'd be dead."_

_ "Exactly."_

_ "…I'm sorry."_

_ "…Me too. I love you."_

_ "I know. I love you too. Hey, don't do that! Don't go all mushy on me, stirrup-head!"_

_ "Shush, insolent bluegrass."_

_ "How many times do I have to tell you that bluegrass isn't actually that blue?!"_

_ "Probably a million."_

_ "You idiot."_

_ "Mmhmm."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Day three of Ren's stay, and the Konoha prison break rattled everyone. The ringleader killed at least five people, including one Sarutobi — for his fire-element heart — and one Hatake — for his lightning-element heart — plus two other shinobi for their water and earth attributes, respectively. A good number of inmates escaped, most of them recaptured but a few slipping out the gates.

The one headed in the direction of Ichigakure at a fearsome speed was pursued immediately by the already planned Inuzuka-Platoon One, plus a redhead and a blunet.

Hashirama himself dragged two inmates back to their cells; Tobirama flooded the main village road after ushering all citizens into their homes, washing a five more escaped prisoners back to their cages. And if the Uchiha didn't take care of the rest with flames and genjutsu, then the Shimura simply let loose with their Fuuton and sliced them in half, upping the dates of their death sentences — whether they had one, or not.

"We are going, _now_," shouted Katsurou, despite the fact that he was standing off against the God of Shinobi.

"Wait one hour, until this all calms down, and then you may track him," Hashirama said sensibly.

"How could you let this happen?!" the Second Prince continued hollering, flown into a frenzied rage. "You are the Hokage! Take responsibility!"

"Our prisons are newly instated, and our defenses were only built not too long ago. We are not an impregnable facility," Hashirama reasoned calmly. He was not at all shaken by Katsurou's flying mouth, a temper that was usually kept in check quite dutifully. It was something that the Second Prince and Sumiko shared, despite their ability to appear calm and collected.

"Still," hissed Katsurou. "It _happened_."

"That's right," agreed Hashirama. "And so we're fixing it, aren't we? Or would you rather I have killed him and let Sumiko die the other day? Then, this never would have happened, no?"

Katsurou went silent.

"It's _happened_, just like you said," Hashirama continued, "and that's why we're going to fix it. We are human, Lord Prince. _I _am human. That is why I strive to fix my mistakes, do you understand?"

Hashirama broke into a totally uncalled for peppy attitude, smiling and returning to his good old self. He pretended misread the severity of situation, and told Katsurou — rather sardonically — to go have a nice cup of tea and maybe a hotcake or two.

"We're leaving _now_."

"We're leaving in an hour," Hashirama replied. "Toka will accompany you, as will Ren, and you will set off with the eight-man group in one hour."

Katsurou glared. He practically bowled over Mariko on his way out, and she could only follow.

"Katsurou," she said softly. "What happened?"

"He _broke out_," snapped her brother, "_that's_ what happened. I can't believe this!"

He slammed a fist into the wall angrily.

"Why us?" he suddenly asked, almost in pain. "You were supposed to come here and that was it. Now all the rest of us are dragged in."

"This is _my_ fault now?"

"No. No, it's not." Katsurou turned to her. "It's mine."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mariko frowned at him, but when he met her eyes, she gasped. His eyes were turning gray.

"It's my fault," he repeated. "Everything is. That's why I need to go. You heard the man, right? _Humans fix their mistakes_. If I'm still a human, I can fix it."

"You're not making _any_ sense," Mariko retorted, grabbing his arm. He shook her off and continued down the hall briskly. "Katsurou, what's wrong with your eyes?"

"Nothing."

"Obviously!" she shouted, exasperated. "_Obviously_ nothing is wrong! Your eyes are _gray_, Katsurou."

"Maybe I'm blind," he replied.

"Katsurou!" Mariko leapt in front of him and blocked his way; he wanly looked to the wall. He looked heavy with a sort of pain-ridden guilt, and she saw that he actually thought that he was the source of all their misfortune.

"Mom was right," he whispered. "And _that_ was my fault too."

"_What_ was your fault?" Mariko asked. She was tired of everything, tired of Katsurou and his riddles, tired of people getting hurt, physically and mentally. She herself had thrown away the blade years ago. Whatever was hurting Katsurou needed to go away too. Why couldn't she just wish it away with a snap of her fingers? _There is no magic in this world, right?_

"Everything."

"Katsurou, _what_ are you talking about?" And she was tired of asking questions to which there was no willing answer.

"Sumiko, two days ago. This prison break. Aunt Tari."

"No, none of this is your fault."

"Mariko, think for a moment. If you can figure out what I'm talking about, then good for you. But for now, just realize that everything here is my fault." Katsurou sighed, running a hand through his blue hair. His eyes had truly turned a silvery, lupine sort of gray, hard like slate.

"…Have you gone insane?"

"Probably," he answered. Katsurou turned to his little sister and stared for a moment. "What do you see?"

"You have gray eyes."

"And?"

"That's it. You have gray eyes. What is it, an eye infection? Katsurou, I need you to tell me what's—"

"Nothing." He returned to his quick walking rhythm, jogging down the stairs and exiting the Hokage Tower.

"Will you _stop that_?!" She barred his way again, despite the fact that he could easily maneuver around her now. Mariko put a hand on her brother's chest, stopping him.

"It's my fault. That's all. So, I'm going to fix it. Simple as that," Katsurou answered. "Nothing more and nothing less."

"How about just _nothing_?" Mariko attempted, fruitlessly. "_Nothing_ is your fault."

"Mariko, you're wrong. This, Sumiko, Mom...I don't know, maybe you're next. Or Ryo."

"What?"

"I killed Mom, and I almost killed Sumiko. Do _you_ want to die too?" And then pained look in his wolf-gray eyes, reflecting the moon that was not out yet, told her clearly what she wanted to hear.

"You're sick, Katsurou." _You need help_.

He was an empty shell, a husk. Where had her brother gone?

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ The barn is burning again. Its top falls quickly this time, collapsing in on itself in a matter of seconds. The crumbling pillars curl in on themselves, folding into mounds of ash and debris. There is someone trapped beneath, screams faltering to silence, leaving only the sound of fire raging through the stables in the air._

_ A hand protrudes the fallen wood splinters, and for a moment, she fears it is Tobirama. Then, she realizes what she is looking at, and it terrifies her. It is not the white-haired Senju she has come to like more and more, it is not his snow-white hair and pale face. It could almost pass for him, but no, it is not the Senju, for the tuft of unburned hair that is spared from the dying flames is of a strange hue. It is blue, the only thing definable of the charred face and body._

_ In horror, Mariko realizes who she is looking at._

_ Her eyes also seek out the figure crouching over the dead body. It is a wolf, coat like slate and silver, eyes bright and hard as an emerald. A wolf that moves like a man, on his hind legs, hunched in an animal style, prowling like a demon beast._

_ The wolf touches a claw to the blue hair of the Second Prince._

_ Katsurou disappears._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Mariko, in a brash, uncalculated decision, threw everything she thought she might need into a saddle bag. It was the pack she sometimes slung across her shoulders when riding, and it would probably hold what she required. Then again, she wasn't quite sure what she required for such a _mission_, anyway.

Shirts, a two pairs of riding trousers, a small, thin dress — though she doubted this would be needed — undergarments, three kunai she stole from Tobirama's weapon's pouch and her notebook, despite her inability to wield them properly. Donning an old stable boy's shirt she'd arbitrarily decided to bring to Konoha, as well as a pair of dark breeches and sturdy men's travel boots — Katsurou's old riding ones, to be exact — Mariko slid out of the compound as inconspicuously as possible.

In broad daylight, that is.

Thinking nothing of the consequences, she tossed her pack into the little supply wagon and hid herself under the canvas, scrawled over in paint with "INUZUKA SUPPLIES". Too soon, she heard the voices of the platoon members, interspersed with Katsurou and Ren arguing.

Then, a face peered into the wagon, accompanied by a small black dog.

It was Inuzuka Shiro, curiously sniffing at the scent of an extra member. For once, Mariko remembered his name; she silently begged him to not say a word.

Shiro, rubbing his black puppy's ears, said nothing and only nodded. She mouthed her silent, relieved thank you, and curled up inside the covered wagon. The young boy — she wondered why he was accompanying this party, since he was only a genin — went alongside the wagon casually, tugging the canvas shut. All light disappeared from Mariko's view.

"Mom, the wagons' ready," he called. A woman's voice answered, telling him to stay behind it and keep an eye out. Shiro readily agreed.

Once or twice, Shiro's dog, Kuro, snuffled his way under the canvas and kept her company. She petted his soft, pointy ears, willing herself to calm down.

Until her heartbeat reduced to a rhythm somewhat slower than the rattling of the wagon's wheels over terrain, Mariko held tight to Kuro's neck, relishing in the fact that the ninja hound did not care that she was accompanying them.

She was in trouble, and she knew it.

The wagon rolled on, and on, and on.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ I think that the Emerald Eagle was not a spirit, but the prince himself, and that we are all his descendants. The Wolf was just his inner darkness._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Mariko's breath caught in her throat, airways constricting in a panic.

But it was only Shiro, slipping a portion of the day's dinner to her and opening a flap of the canvas to allow some of the star's bare, twinkling lights inside.

"I won't tell," promised the boy.

_Thank you_, whispered Mariko. The Inuzuka boy, with the fang-like tattoos running down his cheeks, sat on the wagon's end, spooning a meager soup into his mouth as he watched the group. Mariko felt a faint pulse of chakra — it was the same sort of odd, displaced warmth she'd often felt from Hashirama or Tobirama whenever they molded a jutsu or expressed strong emotion — running around her.

"I'm hiding your scent," Shiro informed her under his breath. Whenever his mother or the fellow Inuzuka clan mates came around, or even the Hyuuga — who could've easily peered through the canvas with their Byakugan — and asked what he was doing by the wagon (one time, his mother asked what was _in_ the wagon), Shiro easily cued for his dog's head to pop up. "Kuro likes it in there, and I stick with Kuro." He would then slip the dog a piece of meat, and Kuro would dive back down into the canvas to retrieve it.

It was Kuro in the wagon, not Mariko.

And it was unbearable in the wagon, but this was what she chose.

_I'm so stupid,_ she thought miserably to herself. _What am I doing here?_

And then Katsurou would begin a debate with Ren, on something or the other of their route or time schedule. The Hyuuga and Inuzuka shinobi grew tired and tuned out, but all Mariko could hear was the strain in her brother's voice.

_You're sick, you need help._

"Katsurou, you're overreacting," spat Ren.

"_I'm _overreacting? Are you sure, Ren? Because it seems like you are too."

"Fine! We both are! Get over it and stop freaking out, then! I'm overreacting simply because you are making a fuss!"

"There is a _reason_ why I'm making a commotion," Katsurou snapped.

"Oh? And what is your _reason_?" Ren glared, the fire lighting up his auburn hair.

"I can't tell you."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_.x.X.x._

_ When he realized that she was not in the Senju complex, not in the village, and not even within his chakra range, he stopped in his tracks. He pressed a hand to the wall, and an entire network of chakra laid itself before him. He could sense Saru all the way in his clan complex, lying in bed, fast asleep. He could feel Hashirama in his office, Arata down in the barn, working late at night. He could even feel the malice that was Uchiha Madara's essence all the way in the secluded Uchiha sector._

_ But he could not find _her_._

_ She was not even in her guest room, the one with the plain whites and browns that he had checked more times than she actually realized._

_ He could feel past the gate guards, and well into the forest._

_ She was not there. And she couldn't possibly be hiding her presence, for several reasons. One, she was not a shinobi, and therefore did not know how to make her chakra signature vanish. Two, there were very few people, high-level shinobi included, who could even attempt at successfully clearing their presences. Three, those who could never escaped him anyway, because he was the keenest sensor out there._

_ The white-haired Senju milled about, waiting for her chakra to just pop out of nowhere. He waited it out, sleeping for a few hours and napping briefly before morning came. Stalking out of the compound and still not finding her, he was inwardly panicked._

_ On the outside, he was a stone that ignored Saru and Koharu and Homura, all three of which came looking to train that day. They followed him curiously, tagging along wherever he went. When he peered into her room for the twentieth time, this time venturing look around some more — maybe under the bed, in her closet — he found that she had carefully tucked her book of flowers into the bottom of a desk drawer, with the bejeweled horseshoe on top. Her necklace, which she kept hidden behind the lamp in a small, hidden pull-out drawer of the desk — this he knew from poking around, though she had no clue that he'd done so — was gone. She hadn't worn it for quite some time, but it was simple fact; the necklace was gone._

_ Looking under the bed, he pulled out a few suitcases that she'd brought with her to Konoha. They were messes, with clothes messily stuffed inside, as if she'd pulled out everything to look at it before quickly shoving it all back in._

_ In her closet — almost empty. Her usual riding boots and trousers were gone (yet another detail he knew from studying her room when he was looking for her on a regular day)._

_ Then, walking back to his own room, Team Tobirama tiredly making a train after him, the Senju grabbed his own supplies. _

_ He reached for his weapons pouch and realized that it was lighter than usual, especially since he'd just stocked up. Always, he carried exactly fifteen kunai and twenty shuriken, with three scrolls inside to summon a thousand more of each. Just weighing the pouch in his hands, he knew he was missing quite a few._

_ Only twelve kunai remained._

_ Tobirama grabbed his hitai-ate and his armor, slapping both on quickly and running past his students. Upon reaching the main gates of Konoha, he sprinted out without a word and dove into the forest. About three miles out of the village, leaving his students in the dust, he pressed a hand to the forest floor._

_ There, just faintly, she was there._

_ Her signature was small and blue, like a little flower swaying in the wind. She was moving, steadily westbound, with the familiarly ragged chakra mark of Inuzuka Shiro beside her._

_ A straight path to Ishigakure._

_ Then, several miles past that, a dark aura. He sensed the signatures of five different people, yet they all traveled within one. They weren't full chakras, only little cores inside of one human. _

_ Tobirama swore under his breath._

You idiot_, he seethed. _

_ And then he began running._

_.x.X.x._

* * *

That was so LONGGG!

Pfff. And there are so many references in there.

1. There's a Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron reference.

2. There is a Mean Girls reference, of all things.

3. Or maybe it's just math class.

4. There is a Carl Sandburg poem reference (more than one, lol).

5. Yadda yadda, yadda yadda. Is it somewhat coming together?

6. Ren's an ass, lol.

7. Kakuzu, you sneaky bugger!

8. Chuuuu ~

That's all for now! :'D

*plays ominous music here*

9. Mariko, that was _really_ stupid.

(oh well)


	15. Discovery

Phew! Hey guys, I'm back! Back from where...not quite sure.

Anyway, Golden Week in Japan has us all in tears, the Fairy Tail chapter came out super-duper late (but it was epic, I can hear it) and last but not least, I'm writing this in study hall or while procrastinating at home! As a result, you get another long chapter. I actually cut it off - it was originally longer. (insert evil laughter here)

Today's schedule:

1) Angry Tobirama

2) Tsundere Tobirama

3) Sweet Tobirama

4) Lord Papaya-sama (BHGE)

5) Tobirama's point of view (I tried something a little different this time, writing from our good ole Tobi's point of view...for a while. Mmmm.)

6) FLASHBACK CENTRAL

7) Did I make a flashback in a flashback? (kind of, not really...nope.)

8) chapter 1 (you'll see)

Blast from the past!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto, because the double issue was a fail. 14 pages! Arghh. Guhhh. That, and Tobirama is tsundere, like, so tsundere.

I saw this amazing tumblr post of the founder era characters doing a L'Oreal shampoo commercial...

**CHECK IT OUT HERE /post/49443620956/i-totally-warned-u-guys-this-was -gonna-be-my-next**

**insert that after ****_ . c/o/m_**

Take away slashes, of course. (just so that it appears in the fanfic window...)

Oh wait you want the story.

HERE ~

* * *

**Chapter 15: ****Discovery**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ When the horse knows, he knows._

_ You cannot hide from a horse's nose._

_ A horse's nose is the finest of noses: A roman nose, a round nose, a small, petite, or dished nose._

_ His ears will flicker and turn and listen._

_ His eyes will swivel and see,_

_ That even when you are not in sight,_

_ The horse's nose knows where you may be._

_He listens and stomps,_

_ He pauses his romp,_

_ His hooves clatter just so,_

_ A pause and a throw,_

_ For when he knows,_

_ With his fine roman nose,_

_ You cannot hide, wherever you go._

_ And it is up to him to decide whether or not_

_ To let you in or shut you out_

_ For his nose – roman, round, small, petite or dished,_

_ Will track down the little guppie he has fished._

_ He feels your pulse and hears your breath,_

_ He smells the human's penchant for death._

_ You can hide your quivering, shaking hands,_

_ But the horse reads your heart like the terrain of the land._

_ When the horse knows, he knows._

_ You simply cannot hide from a horse's nose._

_-Lemma the old maid: A children's poem._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Shiro munched on a hard loaf of bread, breaking off half and letting it simmer in the broth-like soup. He then, very quickly, slipped it under the canvas. Mariko gratefully accepted, wondering how much longer she'd have to remain cramped in the wagon. She'd slipped out whenever she could, and had a terrible, ominous feeling that half of their party knew she was there.

In fact, Mariko was sure that every single Hyuuga and Inuzuka knew she was there, and only the two bickering royals remained in the dark. Still, they said nothing, and continued traveling as planned.

To confirm her suspicions, the Hyuuga woman that used to train Arata's team caught her eye when she peered out from the canvas. At night, the woman came to the wagon and let her out, silently handing her a bowl of pale, bland noodles in a nearly tasteless soup. From then on, the kind Hyuuga continued to help her, supplying her with all her needs and planning times that she could escape from the confines of the wagon.

Distantly, the blunette recalled that this woman was pregnant; why was she on this mission? From observation alone, it seemed that she was not far in her term, with only a small bump as any indication. A first trimester baby, approximately eleven weeks in. Mariko thought that she would be a splendid mother, if the way she was caring for the princess was any indication.

Another day passed, and Mariko found herself bored to death hiding under the wagon's cover. Her only entertainment – if it could be called that – was probably Katsurou bickering away with Ren.

"You see, I'm always sad that Sumi didn't marry someone else," Katsurou once hissed caustically. Ren spat back,

"Well, at least she actually takes responsibility for her actions!"

Mariko was not sure what the circumstances were, but the fact that those two never stopped arguing was an almost friendly backdrop to her current, paralyzed state. Kuro the dog was nice company, but he often wiggled out the back and trotted alongside his preferred partner, Shiro. The Hyuuga woman occasionally dropped by and one time, even held a quiet conversation with her.

"Lady Princess," she began, softly. Mariko found her voice to be soothing and smooth, like the soft lull of a calm lake, or the glimmering surface of a pearl. It fit the woman, matching her soft, lavender eyes so characteristic of a Hyuuga. They were more like marbled pearls, replacement eyes that surreally shimmered and appeared without concentration. At the same time they were sharp and analyzing, briskly processing all that passed. "What brings you on our journey? Is it your brother?" she asked. Then, in a lower voice, "It is all right. I will not tell…for now."

"Thank you," mouthed Mariko. "And the answer is yes, to your second question."

Was it? Why was she here again?

_Because I'm an idiot_, she grumbled inwardly. She really was stumped with herself; why _did_ she hop in the wagon? Stupid, vain little princess. Mocking herself, Mariko made a face and folded her arms, adjusting the best she could alongside a trunk full of supplies and ninja whatnot.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Anything." Curiously, Mariko crept towards the opened flap of the canvas, which Shiro monitored very closely. He'd scuttled away in alarm when the Hyuuga woman approached, but was trailing with his little black dog from a safe distance.

"Tobirama-sama is very, very angry," she murmured, inching closer so that Mariko could hear her. The princess's eyes widened, wondering what this could mean.

_Oh Mariko, _she sighed to herself, _what are you doing?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Travel Log: Day – what day is it? Three?_

_ My legs are cramping, and my back hurts from being curled up in this wagon. Kuro the dog is nice to see sometimes, but all he does is pant and sit there docilely. He's friendly, though. The Hyuuga woman – I still don't know her name – knows I'm here, and the rest of the ninjas probably do too. That leaves Katsurou and Ren, only further proving that they probably are not fit to be shinobi if they cannot even sense a tagalong princess in the wagon._

_ Okay, so that was a little harsh._

_ And what did the lady mean by _Tobirama is angry?

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ Oh_. _So _that's_ what she meant._

As dusk laid itself down, the sun lazily dropping to the horizon line, the two stubborn donkeys that pulled the cart balked and snorted in alarm. Their long, fuzzy ears flickered back and forth, their little tails whipping in circles as they clashed. Then, in a moment of complete confusion, the two strained in opposite directions. Surprisingly strong, they nearly broke the wagon's harnesses.

"Whoa, whoa!" called Katsurou, taking the bridle of one donkey. An Inuzuka attempted to shush the other, while everyone else remained on guard.

"Is it the enemy?" called Ren, elegantly unsheathing his blade. He looked like an overly dazzling knight, brandishing his sword and attempting to look valiant. He, as well as several monitoring Hyuuga, created a half-circle around the wagon. The Hyuuga woman sighed and sort of meandered towards Katsurou, who was petting the nose of the one donkey and glaring daggers at Ren's showiness.

"Maybe, maybe not," came the voice. Mariko cringed – that was fast, really fast.

Stalking up to the wagon, he pushed Ren aside – Ren scoffed and demanded to know what sort of ruthless, uncouth manners the Senju were teaching – threw back the canvas, and hollered:

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ We have nearly reached the border of the Fire Country. If you're going to drag me back, then please, drag me back._

_ I don't even know why I'm here._

_ Ah! I've come up with an excuse: I'm traveling! _

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Everyone stared at Tobirama like he had gone completely insane. Well, Katsurou and Ren stared at him while all the shinobi awkwardly sidled away, minding their own business. Since there was no business to mind, most of them just tucked their kunai away and attempted to keep moving.

"What the—" Katsurou peered over the donkeys' backs to see his younger sister crouched among the supplies. There, slightly cowering but mostly cramped among a couple of cartons and other shinobi equipment, Mariko unfolded herself and risked a sheepish peep up at Tobirama.

The white-haired Senju snatched Mariko by the collar, roughly yanking her from the wagon. His hands, wrapped gruffly around her loose, men's shirt, were gripping her so hard that his knuckles had bled white. Mariko's own fingers flew up to touch his wrists and keep herself steady; she realized that he was trembling, just slightly. When she met his gaze, she was not sure what she saw.

He was angry – no, _livid_. His hands were ice cold and his eyes colder.

But the slight quiver in his typically solid gaze threw her off.

Tobirama let go, and she recoiled into her oversized clothes.

"Mariko!" exclaimed Katsurou, astonished. Mariko mostly ignored her brother, who was demanding an explanation. Ren seemed indifferent, folding his arms and scuffing the his expensive leather boots in the dust almost childishly. He had put away his sword, and was now impatiently milling about as Katsurou walked up to Mariko.

"What are you doing here?!" he practically shouted. The Second Prince was staring at her now, and it was horribly unnerving. His eyes, once a deep, forest green of the trees, were marbled and gray, moonlit like the path of a hunter in the night. There were specks of green here and there, forming a dim, crystalline ring around the pupil. She was watching his eyes so closely.

And then, he blinked and turned away. If Mariko completely erased this moment, she could clearly see Katsurou with green eyes again. But every time he turned, there they were – starkly silver, almost plain yet full of cold, desolate depth.

"I came…to travel," she supplied pitifully.

"To travel," he echoed, skeptical.

"Uh huh."

Toka, who had long since realized that Mariko was hidden in donkey-drawn cart, came over and rested a firm, decisive hand on the prince's shoulder. Unexpectedly, she tried quelling his sudden outrage (though she couldn't really change Tobirama's attitude at the moment).

"I think it's all right," she said. "We're here, after all."

It seemed that she simply felt that it was necessary to play the mediator, even if it defied her own ideas. Clearly, by the exasperated glance she threw at Mariko, Toka thought it was unwise of her to accompany them. However, she knew better than to argue. If no harm was done, then they might as well continue. To herself, Toka had an inevitably heavy, weight in her chest; an apprehensive foreshadowing that this was the worst choice possible. Yet she defied her rational sense and did not say a word after that.

Katsurou faltered, in and that slip of time, Mariko jogged after Tobirama, who had turned a cold shoulder on her and was stalking at the head of the group. The other shinobi instinctively gave him space, his menacing, brooding aura radiating something fierce. Mariko, taking no heed of this personal bubble, stomped into it and wrapped her fingers around his sleeve.

He shook her off.

"Tobirama," she whispered, glancing sideways an Inuzuka who pretended not to be watching and listening. More insistently, "_Tobirama_."

She clasped his one hand in both of hers; it was startlingly cold, his calloused fingers like ice as she turned it over, her own thumb running across his palm.

"What?" he muttered snappily, jerking his hand out of her grip. The little blunette cautiously debated picking it up again, but decided on just leaving him be.

"What do you mean, _what_? I was going to ask _you_ that," she responded in a low voice, still wary of the few nosy shinobi who oh-so-subtly masked their interest. Mariko regarded his closed face and set jaw anxiously, unsure of what to do or say next. She ignored her decision not to touch him and fumbled for his hand again. He was tense, turning to her and glaring the sharp, ferocious daggers that she still had trouble dodging, but he briefly glanced down at their now-intertwined fingers.

"What do you _think_, Shorty?" he asked, brows furrowing. He almost appeared _hurt_, but he would never fully show it. Tobirama wormed his way out of Mariko's grip and strode ahead to talk with the Hyuuga woman, who efficiently began relaying all their current mission information and statuses to him.

Mariko wasn't sure what to feel. A little broken, a little rejected, but stubborn nonetheless. She padded back to the wagon, where the startled donkeys had calmed from their spook and were now considering Tobirama something that was not quite friendly, but not quite a threat either.

Inuzuka Shiro, shyly nibbling on a cookie, offered one to her. She accepted and munched on it beside the boy, sitting on the edge of the wagon, a folded canvas to lean on behind them.

"You're usually talkative, aren't you?" asked Mariko.

"I guess so," replied Shiro. He had a messy head of brown, chocolate hair, tufts and spikes falling every which way. One floppy lock scrappily fell across his face, nearly obscuring his right eye but seemingly brushed out of the way at the last minute. His trademark Inuzuka tattoos lined his cheeks, dulled red from the dust and grime on his face, but clear all the same. He was not a skinny ten-year-old like Homura, nor was he tall and lean like Kagami. He was somewhat like Hiruzen, a figure built in the middle, but on a smaller scale. Shiro was rather short for his age, and he hid himself under a shiny blue blazer that was three sizes too large for him — "It's to hide Kuro in," he enthused excitedly when she asked — but he had a big, toothy grin that seemed to make up for it.

"What are your favorite places in Konoha?" At some time during this conversation, as the wagon rolled on creakily and Katsurou finished yet another argument with Ren (this time concerning Mariko and Tobirama), Mariko found that she still was not fully aware of her own home.

Home.

That was Konoha, wasn't it? It was still strange to call such a place home, here on the mainland, but at the same time, Mariko could not have told someone that she lived in Hurricane. Her room, vast and large with its fluffy, over-decorated bed, the full marble bath and a maze of a closet, and even the window seat overlooking the falls, everything — _everything _seemed distant.

"I like the one place that sells dango, but says they aren't a dango shop," Shiro told her. "The Hokage Tower is a place I like. I sometimes hang out on the roof." He paused, and thought. "My favorite is actually this little barber shop, but I don't get my hair cut, I just go to the roof and stare at the clouds for a while. Sometimes Torifu comes, and we share chips."

"That sounds nice," commented Mariko. "How about…your favorite restaurant?"

"My mom's kitchen," answered the young boy easily. "She makes the best desserts."

Mariko glanced over at the strong, toned Inuzuka woman that Shiro had called his mother. He was definitely similar to her — they had the same unruly brown hair, and the same sleekness to their noses and jaws, but while she had round, soft eyes, his were canine and sharp.

"My turn," Shiro suddenly said, turning to the blunette. "What is your favorite place so far?"

"Me?" Mariko was pleasantly surprised. "That's tricky. Probably the one big bridge that's just outside the market?"

"The Naka's real pretty," agreed Shiro. Mariko did, in fact, like this view, where the bridge extended gracefully over the gurgling stream and a copse of trees hid the busy market from view, but her favorite was elsewhere. It was that dreaded cliff that she couldn't bear to go near, simply for the memorable sunset that had dressed itself in radiant hues of orange, purple, and red, for a performance of mere minutes.

"Is food in Konoha different from where you're from?" asked Shiro.

Mariko smiled. She began to tell him about various foods that Hurricane was known for — the mention of a jelly dessert lit up the boy's face — and of the mainland products that islanders favored.

"We have a version of udon that's made with a flatter noodle and doesn't have soup," she informed him, smiling as she reminisced about the strange dish that came about years and years ago from an experiment in an Esmeralda restaurant's kitchen.

"That's not udon, then," pointed out Shiro.

"True," agreed Mariko, laughing. "We call it _Udon de Crème_, or something silly like that."

"Udon…de crème?"

"Yes. We have this cream sauce that goes with it, and it's kind of a fun name — we got it from somewhere in Kiri, I think — so it stuck. It's pretty good." Mariko grinned. "If I learn to cook better, maybe I'll make it for you guys." The blunette grimaced, and the boy giggled. "Though, I think I'm worse in the kitchen than Hiruzen…"

"I don't think you'd be able to burn a frying pan as well as Saru does," snorted Shiro, rolling his eyes and allowing his black Kuro to pop up in his lap, tail wagging. "So I think it's safe to say you cook decently."

"Well, thank you, Shiro." Mariko smiled, enjoying the company of someone other than a friendly, sleepy dog for once. As if on cue, Kuro barked, and Shiro petted the dog's pointy ears fondly. She didn't even realize that she'd drifted to sleep, a brief nap that ended when she realized that the cart had stopped rolling, and night had fallen with a dark curtain of stars.

"You missed supper, Lady Princess," said the Hyuuga woman. Her name was Natsuki, and she was by far one of the kindest people Mariko had met since her arrival in Konoha. "Even though it wasn't much."

It was a folded bread meal, which consisted basically of a thin wrap around a series of collected vegetables and the last of the preserved meats. Mariko finished up her sandwich of tasteless herbs and mushrooms, looking more to fill the uncomfortable rumbling in her stomach than to treat her taste buds. She asked Natsuki, "What time is it?"

"Approximately 11 o'clock at night, Lady Princess."

"Thank you. And Mariko would be fine," added the girl.

"You're welcome, Mariko-hime." Natsuki curtsied briefly, surprising Mariko. She had only seen high courts use curtsies, but never any traditional clans. She had expected Natsuki to gracefully nod or bow or even just smile; the curtsy was as distant as her lavender and pink themed room. It seemed that the Hyuuga were well-versed in all sorts of cultures, from the northern-mainland and eastern-islander traditions to the regular clan etiquettes of most shinobi families.

11 o'clock. It was awfully late, and the blinking stars did everything except lull her back to sleep. Shiro had curled up on the canvas, so Mariko took a loose fold and tucked him in with it. She took care to include Kuro, who was a fluffy extension of Shiro — his partner, ironically with the opposite name — and tucked him in as well.

The shinobi were working in shifts, and currently, there were two Inuzuka ninjas keeping watch. Katsurou and Ren were sound asleep, the sapphire-topped prince tucked into a sleeping back slathered in camouflage paints, and the future daimyo snuggled into an expensive but quick, travel-handy futon that he'd unraveled in moments.

Mariko quickly and silently tiptoed past the slumbering royals and the light-sleeping shinobi, finding her quarry sitting on a demolished stump without much vigor in the sloping line of his shoulders. He was a little ways away, ignoring the two guards and out of earshot. He visibly tensed when she came near, sensing her and hoping that she wouldn't come for him.

"Tobirama."

He sighed, and even though his face relaxed a bit, the stiffness in his shoulders remained. Maybe it was just his armor, deep blue and shimmering with the eerily clear moonlight. Or maybe it was the way he sat, elbows propped on his knees, head down and contemplating. Suddenly, there were so many details, head to toe and front to back. She noticed everything in the meager moonlight, glowing a soft, creamy white while the backdrop remained a thin black. There was the crook of his elbow, where the sleeves creased, unevenly hiking up to an armguard strapped at the bicep. His hands, folded within one another, strong and calloused. His face, slightly hidden behind the thick, fur collar that strapped to his duke blue armor, eyes slowly sliding to meet hers.

"Sit," he ordered simply, indicating the tree stump's nearly identically squat partner across from him.

Mariko meandered over and sat down, primly and neatly, hands folded in her lap. Interestingly enough, Tobirama slowly reached over and took both of her hands, sliding a thumb across her knuckles.

"Your hands are cold," he stated pointlessly.

"No, _your_ hands are cold."

Tobirama glanced up, the heels of his palms resting on her knees as he turned her hands over.

"Why?"

"Why what?" She was dodging, and she knew that he was well aware of this fact.

"Mariko."

"I like to travel," she blurted. He made that _face_ again, the painful one, the expression that made her feel guilty. But it disappeared within seconds, and she'd forgotten it by the time the next words fluttered from her mouth. "It was because I wanted to protect Katsurou," she told him. "He's not well."

"Not well?"

Mariko shook her head. "I can't really explain it. Can we not?"

He dropped it, taking a few more minutes to contemplate her hands. Mariko didn't really see what was so great about her hands at the particular moment in time, but she was exactly the same. She reached over and caught his wrist, pulling him a little closer. Then, he wasn't really examining her fingers, but _she_ was running them over his wrist.

She turned her own arm over and compared with his; he had pale skin, a pale forearm compared to hers. Mariko had once considered herself ghostlike, pale, exemplified and glorified by the white pastels that hid her expressions. As an islander, years and years spent in the sun eventually gained her a slightly tanned complexion, but she had always been lighter than the sun-toasted Katsurou and the perfectly tanned Sumiko.

Upon comparison with Tobirama, she realized that he was more like the moon — pale and clear, scarlet eyes gleaming and white hair jarringly bright in the darkness.

"Do you know how much trouble you caused me?" Was there really that much trouble? No. More like concern. She realized, with a sudden, butterfly-like warmth in her stomach, that he had worried. For her.

"No," she answered dully.

"You caused far more trouble than you should've," he snapped, letting go of her hands abruptly. Her gaze shot up to meet his, slightly bewildered and mostly hurt. "Don't ever do that again."

He held his glare for about a minute, before the silence softened him and he shrank back down into his dejected frame. Tobirama, slightly deflated, took her hands again. He lifted them to his face and for a moment, appeared to press his forehead to the backs of her hands.

"Don't do that again," he repeated, brow furrowing, as if battling a growing headache. He looked down, head hanging slightly so that all she saw was a head of silver. Then, softly, all but inaudible, "I was worried, Shorty."

Mariko stood, so suddenly that she tripped forward. Even so, she let the momentum carry her, because all she wanted was to throw her arms around him.

Tobirama stared straight ahead, his breath catching as she tucked his face into her body, embracing him. Mariko's blue hair, silvery hues of black and gray in the night, tickled his nose. Her fingers were firmly wrapped in his fur collar, and the cold, blue armor pressed into her, resistant and hard. Slowly, his own arms came up to wrap around her, easily encompassing her small body and bringing her closer.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, because there was nothing else to say.

Tobirama didn't reply, he only held her for a few more minutes. If anything, he almost timidly tucked his face into the crook of her neck, nuzzling behind her ear. Her blue hair was a mess, grimy and sweaty from just a few days of shinobi-style travel. Nevertheless, Tobirama ran a few fingers through the sapphire locks, catching a few tangles and gently working them out.

He seemed to realize she was still standing, so he leaned back so that he could bring her onto his lap. To be completely honest, Mariko didn't find his armor to be a very comfortable seat, and the chest plate was horrendously thick, but she sat down without protest. The white-haired Senju appeared to be fascinated with her hair – silvery blue in the moon's fading glow – and continued brushing it through meticulously.

"'_I like to travel_?" he finally said, softly. Even though his tone was quiet and tender, the mocking jab was evident. Mariko elbowed him, but found that trying to hit a man in armor would hurt her more than him. Consequently, she rubbed her elbow sorely, pursing her lips indignantly.

"Yes, I do," she replied, ignoring the fact that he had braided her hair. Actually, this rather amused her, seeing as Katsurou could hardly brush his own hair, let alone braid it. "Did you just braid my hair?"

"Mmhmm." He had nothing to tie the ends of her hair with, so he let it hang loose, the scrupulously woven braid shimmering apart in lustrous blue locks.

"How do you know how to braid?" Mariko turned to face him, and was pleased to find that his hands fell from her hair to her back, naturally. He was close, very close, and she couldn't help but fall to her usual habit of appreciating his scent. He was always a mixture of the wind and the trees, the light freshness of a spring shower, and if she got a little closer, something she called "clean laundry smell". It wasn't a bad smell, not at all. It was pleasant and light, like leaping into a pile of fluffy, clean pillows, if that was a valid description.

"Hashirama taught me when he was bored," explained the tall Senju. "Just like he taught me how to cook…when he was bored."

"So, do you braid his hair?" Mariko laughed at this notion – imagine, the Hokage with a series of painstakingly intricate braids?

"When I was younger, and Hashirama looked like a girl."

"He looked like a girl?"

"When he grew his hair out at first, yes. He was a very pretty girl, according to Toka."

Mariko snorted with laughter, before flushing and clapping her hands across her mouth.

"What was that, a pig imitation?" He took her wrists and gently removed her hands from her face, leaning a little closer.

"Would you like to kiss a pig?" she asked, a little too late because the last half of her sentence was promptly hushed as his lips met hers. Mariko, pleasantly surprised and maybe a bit too eager, began kissing back so vigorously that he nearly fell off the tree stump. Tobirama, with a smirk growing on his lips, slid one hand behind her head and pulled her closer.

"Tobirama-sa—" The Inuzuka guard's eyes widened, and he turned tail at an impossibly fast speed. Mariko heard him bustle through the underbrush, back towards his night shift partner. She ignored this because Tobirama had ignored it – had it been Hiruzen, perhaps Tobirama would turned and exasperatedly snapped something at the poor child – and tried to comprehend the tingling that ran down her spine every time his tongue brushed her lower lip and his free hand caressed her cheek.

"Tobirama-sama!" This time, the Inuzuka came back at a full sprint, completely disregarding the fact that the Senju was currently lip-locked with the blue-haired princess. "There's—"

Tobirama, hardly breaking from their kiss during the next split second, leaned over and whipped a kunai from his pocket, slinging it to the south. It hit a tree trunk, blood splattering across the bark. Moments later, the enemy shinobi appeared. It was an archer that had formerly escaped from the village attack, donned in all black and only a single, shining hitai-ate to give him away.

Tobirama pulled back and, with Mariko firmly in his grip, drew a few shuriken. The archer, staggered with his deep wound; the kunai had taken a good slice out of his arm. Even though he bled through his black outfit and was dripping crimson trails everywhere, he deftly drew an arrow to his bow within a second.

If the archer thought Tobirama was over by that tree stump, he was wrong.

The Senju was immediately behind him, shoving Mariko towards the Inuzuka guard and wielding a blade to the archer's throat.

"Go!" he shouted to the Inuzuka, whose two dogs leapt in, each one clamping their jaws around a leg. The enemy shinobi wailed in pain as two sets of canine teeth burrowed into his flesh.

The guard grabbed Mariko harshly by the arm and told her to run. Branches scratched her face, and she scrabbled to keep her footing as they rushed through the underbrush of the forest. Reemerging at the campsite, someone tall grabbed her and carried her away.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, as whoever it was hoisted her onto his shoulder and began to run.

"Quiet, sis," hissed Katsurou, trying to keep a firm grip on his sister as she wriggled. Hearing his voice and realizing that the head of hair beside her was a bright cerulean, Mariko calmed and let him take her to their new destination.

"Where are we going?!" she demanded, but receiving no answer.

The moon became obscured by a cloud, and someone shouted from up ahead.

Katsurou suddenly fell, throwing Mariko onto the hard, stony ground in front of him, and they both tumbled to a rocky stop. The Second Princess felt as if she'd been thrown from a horse, out in the field and hitting the stony pavement of the main road.

But this was not Hurricane, this was somewhere near the border of the Fire Country, and there was blood pooling beside her.

And it was not her own.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_.x.X.x._

_ She was soft and supple, leaning into him without hesitation. Her lips were deliciously warm, and he wanted to press her closer but for once, his armor was doing him no good. It was a strange feeling, to want someone so badly. He'd always distanced himself from people, his social life the source of laughter for his older brother and sister-in-law. Too often, he either meandered the Konoha streets alone or idly lounged in the office, mind wandering and hand flying across documents efficiently. Women, of course, had never been of much interest to him; even though several had tried leading him on._

_ So he was duly surprised when he found himself fingering her hair, relishing in the silkiness of her long, blue locks. He wove them into a fine braid, oddly treasuring the feel of each strand slipping through his fingers, cool like flowing water. Incredulously, she turned and caught the tail end of the braid, which slid from his hands and swung long and smooth down her back._

_ "Did you just braid my hair?"_

_ He murmured his confirmation, explaining that Hashirama had grown out his hair and taught him to weave hair. The Senju girls used to pull flowers and intricately knot them into pleasantly colorful coronets, and were always braiding hair. One year, one of their cousins – yet another victim of ceaseless war, passing away the following winter – had decided to take Hashirama's awkwardly grown out hair into her own hands, and wove it into a fancy updo. That had been the talk of the clan, the dinner joke, the daily reminder for Hashirama of his choice not to cut his hair. Then again, he'd abhorred that straight, mop-like haircut for years, upon realizing how clumsy and childish appeared, and had forbade Tobirama from cutting it soon after the confrontation with Madara and his family._

_ She snorted with laughter, and he could not help but smile. He carefully hid his expression, his evident joy at the sound of her voice, and bit his lower lip slightly. He leaned in, inhaling her scent – hints of green tea and mint shampoo, and then the comforting warm odor that really didn't have a name, hidden beneath a few days in a wagon. She smelled mostly like hay and grass, but he pressed his lips to hers and all he felt was a wave of passion, the lightness of flowers swaying in the breeze, a fine meadow smelling of spring._

_ Then he felt it. As he readjusted himself and tried to focus on her soft lips, melding with his as she sat up and pressed into him eagerly. He wanted, _so_ much, just to undo the straps of his armor and take her, but his hand crept to his pouch rather than the armor's buckles. Never before had he felt an attraction to a woman, yet here she was. And, unfortunately, it seemed that his slowness to the starting gates doomed him to a forever-interrupted state, unable to progress._

_ The chakra signature at the edge of the clearing shivered, a clear convulsing of chakra flow as a jutsu was activated. The shinobi was hiding himself, but for Tobirama, he had not hidden well enough._

_ "Tobirama-sama!"_

_ The Inuzuka burst into the field, but the kunai was already in his fingers. He wrapped his left arm strongly around Mariko, fingers digging into her skin just to gain a good grip on her as he leapt to his feet. The Flying Thunder God placed him directly behind the archer, allowing him to draw his blade in an instant and lodge the edge against his throat. He pushed Mariko away, a flash of blue in the corner of his eye._

_ "Go!" he exclaimed, shoving her in the direction of the Inuzuka as two dogs clamped onto his prey._

_ The man laughed, overly loudly. He was obnoxious, sneering and refusing to acknowledge the fact that Tobirama was about to kill him._

_ "That was unwise, Senju," he clipped snidely, nose wrinkling into a wry, silent bout of laughter. _

_ Tobirama drew his blade across the man's throat without delay, flicking the blood from his sword off precisely. Diving into the forest, the two ninja hounds galumphing after him eagerly, Tobirama looked for the group. A mass of chakras and presences, humans and animals. Disregarding the two sets of paws padding beside him, Tobirama sensed each of the Inuzuka's dogs and their owners. The Hyuuga made a wide circle, followed by the two rather distinct auras of Katsurou and Ren. Mariko, small but vibrant, clinging close to her brother._

_ "Mariko!" exclaimed Katsurou, as Tobirama burst out of the forest and onto the road. He saw, in a split second, an arrow lodge itself into Katsurou's turned back, and Mariko falling hard onto the pavement._

_ A second arrow flew, and Tobirama intercepted it with a few kunai, the knives deflecting the tip of the arrowhead. A third was let loose, but Katsurou threw himself in front of Mariko; the arrow pierced his side, dangerously close to his old wound. He fell._

_.x.X.x._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

She was completely and utterly terrified, her palm sticky with the oozing liquid. She looked up and there was a man standing over her, masked and dark, nearly blending with the night sky. He stared at her with wide eyes, unmoving. When he didn't even blink for the very long time that she watched him, frozen in shock, Mariko realized that there was a sword run through his chest, and that he was dead.

Tobirama withdrew his blade and pushed the corpse aside, letting it skid in the gravel. He was kneeling beside her in an instant, immediately drawing her into his arms when she reached for him. He stayed for only a few seconds, releasing her and hurrying to Katsurou's side.

"Don't pull that out," Tobirama said a moment too late. Katsurou had plucked the arrow from his side, where it had lodged between two of his lower ribs. Luckily, it had not penetrated far; the arrow had sliced his sideways before sticking itself into his body rather than plunging deep into the vulnerable abdomen.

Tobirama clicked his tongue, flicking the arrow away and examining the wound. To Mariko's surprise, his fingers began to glow a faint green.

"You're a medic?" she asked incredulously.

He scoffed at this. "Hardly. I learned what I could, when I could."

_Like you learned braiding and cooking? _Mariko said inwardly. It wasn't the right time for jokes, but she felt the nervous flutter of worry in her gut settle just a bit. She couldn't look at Katsurou's wound, even though a mess of shredded clothing obscured the incision itself. Instead, she knelt by his head, a firm hand on his shoulder. The prince was gritting his teeth, eyes shut tight as he tried to ignore Tobirama fishing out splinters of wood from the arrows splitting shaft.

Tobirama was true to his word, proving to have mastered only the basics of medical ninjutsu. He stopped most of the bleeding, but the wound gaped, wide and open, ready to fester. Katsurou swore under his breath before opening his eyes and turning to the Senju.

"Hyuuga Natsuki has a first aid kit," he managed, before reaching over to grip Mariko's hand. She squeezed back, disregarding the fact that his hands were crushing her smaller ones.

"She'll be back, soon," Tobirama offered. He reached over to the dead man's body, ripped off a black strip of cloth, and stuffed the wound with it to stifle the final trickles of blood. The sound of several on foot indicated the return of their group, which had scattered into a defensive outreaching radius to encompass the enemy.

"Why do you all keep getting hurt?" cried Mariko, sniffling slightly as she tightened her hand around her brother's. "You both act like you don't care."

"Mari," Katsurou said through half a grunt, "Do you think I don't care that I just got shot?"

"That's not what I meant." They treated it like it wasn't a big deal. Well, _it was a big deal to her_.

"I know, I know." Katsurou winced, and when Hyuuga Natsuki pulled away the cloth, she clicked her tongue.

"Tobirama-sama," she began.

"Poorly done, I know," he muttered, shuffling away. "Have all the enemies been taken?"

"There were a total of seven, sir," replied an Inuzuka, one of five, including Shiro and his mother. For all of them, there were seven dogs — this man and Shiro's mother both had two, while everyone else brought along their single companions. Another four Hyuuga accompanied them, and of them, the two with the most precise chakra control, even for a Hyuuga, were medics.

Hyuuga Natsuki set to healing Katsurou, and the group pretty much calmed down. When Katsurou fell asleep from the soft buzz of green chakra soothing his wound — Mariko did not like to think that he went unconscious from the pain, because he gave no indication that he was unable to bear it — his little sister stood and ambled over to the wagon, where Shiro held his dog in his lap. The fluffy Shiba Inu barked happily when she came over, wagging his tail. He thumped his one paw on Shiro's knee, and the boy let the pup galumph over to Mariko. She petted his ears.

"Mariko." Tobirama walked over, and instinctively, the dog scampered away, closely followed by his human counterpart. "Get some rest; the night is not over."

"I can't sleep," she returned. "That's why I came to you in the first place."

He seemed upset. Perhaps it was something about the enemy's ineffectiveness that seemed suspicious, because Mariko felt it too. There was something _waiting_ for them, and she didn't know what.

"Where are we in the Fire Country?"

"We're nearly at the border of the River Country," replied the Senju. "We approximately twenty minutes away."

"And after that, where are we going?"

He laughed, a wry, low chuckle. Reaching down, the Senju ruffled her hair.

"Don't do that," she protested, ducking away from his prying hands and jumping off of the wagon end. Soon enough, a few Inuzuka helped lay Katsurou down on a cleared area of the wagon, cushioned (albeit poorly) by the folded canvas.

"Natsuki-san," said a short, pretty girl quietly. She was pale like the moon and her Kekkei Genkai eyes glimmered a light amethyst purple in the waning moonlight. "You should rest as well."

She gestured to the wagon, and Natsuki shook her head.

"No, I'm fine walking."

"You'll be closer to the Lord Prince," the other girl insisted, "where you can monitor his wound."

"I'm _fine_," Natsuki replied.

"I know, but…" the girl faltered.

"Natsuki-san."

The Hyuuga woman turned to the authoritative voice of the tall, white-haired Senju.

"Yes, Tobirama-sama?"

"I believe that your unborn child may benefit from a break. You may not be tired, but your child feeds off of your energy and your chakra, so it would be best if you listened to your family." He nodded pointedly at the wagon, and Natsuki sighed.

"I suppose there are none as doting as the Senju," mused the woman, finally agreeing to climb onto the wagon and take a rest. She looked exhausted, spent of her chakra from healing Katsurou's wound nearly completely, and rather battle-weary. "You would be a splendid father, Tobirama-sama."

At this, Tobirama did not answer, only turned away. Mariko continued walking, a small tension buzzing through the uncomfortable silence. She meekly slid her fingers into his, and he allowed her to.

"Are you tired?"

"No. You haven't answered my question, either." She sidled up closer to him, and he watched her lean her head against his arm. The protective plate strapped to his arm wasn't the best pillow, but Mariko thought that it would suffice. "Where to after the River Country?"

"The Wind Country."

"And what's in the Wind Country?"

"The Sand Village."

"And what's there?"

"Sand. Lots of it."

Mariko frowned and turned. She contemplated poking him, just for entertainment — to be honest, her stomach was queasy and she couldn't help but stare over at Katsurou, despite knowing he was far from danger this time around — and distraction. The problematic blue armor stood in her way, and so she decided to poke his hip where the armor didn't cover. While Hashirama's battle armor sported plates one either side of his body, Tobirama's variation had linked armor in front and back. Mariko found this supremely amusing, for when she poked his hip, he nearly jumped in surprise.

"_What_ are you doing?" he hissed under his breath, eye narrowing.

"I don't like your jokes," she stated blandly, grabbing the buckle the ran along his belt. She tugged, and he frowned.

"I don't like _your_ jokes," he retorted. Tobirama's arm snaked around her waist and securely pinned her to his side.

"What do you mean — and stop that! Let go." Mariko grabbed his hand; it was hard enough walking in her current position. She didn't need Tobirama's hand sliding down her side to make it any more difficult. Crushed against his side, she tugged at his armor, and was rewarded with a slight jingle of metal.

"Are you _trying_ to undress me?" he deadpanned, when she accidentally unclipped part of his outfit. She hastily dragged the strap back up, redoing the buckle. In the process, Mariko discovered that his armor _was_ actually very heavy, and that if anything, he must've been carrying thirty extra pounds on him.

Mariko flushed when Tobirama grabbed her hand and stared at her impassively.

"What?" she attempted.

He shook his head. "Not here," he murmured, causing her to turn a slightly more flustered shade of pink.

"What do you mean, _not here_?!" she whispered back at him, flustered.

"You know what I mean." He arched a brow, and she fought to urge to make a half-squeal half-squeak of outrage. Tobirama straightened. "Oh look, the border."

Mariko, still stiffly following along and failing to keep his hand from sliding into a firm position at her waist, clung to his unyielding blue armor. If anything, she awkwardly stuck to his side like a burr, looking much like a disconcerted blue flower taped to the Senju's armor.

_Oh look, the border_, she repeated, scoffing inwardly. _Say something else to me._

Mariko was surprised to find that she wanted to talk with the terse, typically taciturn man. Senju Tobirama, aloof and, if she dared to say it, very snarky.

"What's the River Country like?" she blurted, suddenly. "And don't say that it's full of rivers."

"Well," he replied, smirking, "It's got a watery history of—"

She poked his leg.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ "Okay, Katsurou, I'm doing a personality survey, and I need you to answer a few questions."_

_ "Sure, baby sis. But…why?"_

_ "I dunno, it's for my studies."_

_ "I never did that."_

_ "Well, I am."_

_ "Okay. Then shoot, Mari."_

_ "Favorite color?"_

_ "Easy. Green."_

_ "Favorite food?"_

_ "Probably gyoza."_

_ "Least favorite food?"_

_ "That weird seaweed stuff that comes on the side…the squishy stuff, you know? Eughh. I don't even like _thinking _about it."_

_ "Favorite activity?"_

_ "Archery. Mari, do you even need to ask me?"_

_ "Yes. Now, favorite drink?"_

_ "Strawberry lemonade. I bet you didn't see that coming."_

_ "Uh huh, sure. Favorite fruit?"_

_ "Papaya."_

_ "Favorite vegetable?"_

_ "Arden lettuce."_

_ "Wow, you have almost the same answers as Sumi. The food ones, anyway."_

_ "What can I say? We have the same taste."_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

She awoke to the sound of retching from Sumiko's room. The palace was quiet, the same eerie silence that graced its halls every night permeating into the rooms like airy specters. Mariko, warm and cozy under her blankets, continued to listen. A stifled cough came through the walls, distinctly Sumiko. The Second Princess reluctantly crawled from her place under the covers, padding over to the door. She crept out into the dark hall, naturally finding her way to the wall and feeling her way until she reached a turn and found Sumiko's bath quarters.

Here she was, the First Princess, straight blue hair falling haggardly across her face and shoulders. She spit bitterly into the bath tub, looking miserable and sick.

"Sumi?"

"It's nothing, Mari," said her older sister quickly. Mariko assessed the floor, where a myriad of Sumiko's things had fallen in a mess. She ignored the old kitchen knife that peered out from a travel sack, its short length corresponding with the scars of old slashes running along one upper thigh. They were faded, these scars, but still there.

"What happened?" Mariko paused, waiting as Sumiko bent herself over the lip of the tub and vomited again.

"Nothing."

Mariko glanced at her sister's clenched fist, closed tightly around a small sack. Surprisingly, Sumiko relinquished it readily when Mariko attempted to pry her fingers open.

Medicinal pills.

"Why are you eating these? Are you sick?"

"No."

"There are two different kinds in here." One of the pills had a slight, oval shape to its capsule, and was a rocky shade of rough black. The other type of pill, while similar in texture, had a dark bluish hue, and was a small, circular piece. Easily distinguishable upon close examination, but hard to tell at a glance. Mariko, however, immediately recognized the circular blue capsules in an instant. They were made of condensed pregnancy preventing herbs, the bitter little plant that served as a potent birth control. The other tablet, however, she did not know the purpose of.

"I know," moaned Sumiko. "Well, now I do."

"You're taking these," Mariko stated. It wasn't a question. Sumiko nodded. "And then? Are you, you know…?"

"No, I'm not pregnant." Sumiko glanced warily at the packet of pills. "I accidentally refilled it with another medicine — I think maybe it's an antacid or laxative for poor digestion or food poisoning — and accidentally ate one."

Mariko sighed. Now if Sumiko had taken the herbs meant to _aid_ pregnancy, perhaps the effects would have been different. She was relieved that instead of a complication such as that, Sumiko had taken a rather harmless stomachache medicine instead.

"Or," Sumiko mused, "I picked up the stomach flu from Lemma."

"Is that what she had?"

"Yeah." Sumiko nodded.

"Where's Ren? Do you want me to get him?"

Sumiko shook her head vehemently. "He doesn't need to know," she said in a low voice. "He'll worry too much."

"He's a worrywart," snorted Mariko, eliciting a fond smile from her sister.

"He _is_," she agreed. "Sometimes I don't know what to do with him."  
"But you love him."

"I do." Sumiko had a dreamy expression cross her face momentarily, before drawing her focus back to Mariko. "He cares for me, so I think that's important." She wrinkled her nose in a soft giggle. "Even if he _is_ overprotective and gets jealous too easily."

"And he's a snob," Mariko added pointedly.

"Okay fine," laughed Sumiko, accepting the packet of herbs when Mariko returned them. "He _is_ a snob. But he's a cute snob, and I'm a snob to him, so I guess we match."

"You snobs," mocked Mariko lightly, bursting into giggles with her sister.

"Mariko," Sumiko said, suddenly quieting. "Have you used these, yet?"

She wiggled the little pouch of herbal pills in her hand. Mariko shook her head.

"You know I don't get out much," Mariko replied.

"I think that was a joke," Sumiko said, a small smile touching the corners of her lips. She stood then, declaring that she felt a million times better, thanking Mariko for checking on her and proceeding to clean up her mess. "Mari. Don't forget though," warned Sumiko. "I'm serious."

"I think I can handle it."

"I know," Sumiko said.

Unexpectedly, Ren popped his head in the door at that moment. He had crept up on them silently, and the moment he called Sumiko's name, she leapt up about three feet in the air and nearly slipped on the master bath tile.

"Sorry," he murmured sheepishly, slipping into the room, hands folded behind his back. "Lady Princess," he greeted, nodding briefly. "Sumi, you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just a little queasy. Must be something I ate." Sumiko smoothly tucked the packet of condensed herbs into the larger pouch that she stuffed everything else into. The kitchen knife disappeared, along with a hair brush and other useful feminine items, half of which involved makeup that Mariko would never be able to tell apart.

"Sure?"

"I'm sure, Ren." Sumiko accepted the hand he offered when she hopped to her feet, and simultaneously, Mariko bid them a good night and disappeared out the door.

In the hall, deadly silent except for the lonely cricket that called out in the still night, Mariko took a detour. She rounded everyone's sleeping quarters — Katsurou and Yuuna were silent in their rooms, and she passed the last of Sumi's wing — and found one door open by a crack, light spilling over into the dark hall.

She knocked.

"Ryou?"

"Come in." He was perched on his bed, for once managing to have enough time to change into a set of comfortable slacks and a casual tee, accompanied by warm socks in need of a good darning. Often enough, the Crown Prince spent nights in his office, or brought the office back to his room and never ceased working. Countless times, Mariko had caught him wearing the same outfit three days in a row simply because he'd forgotten to change. He would take the briefest of showers before throwing on the same shirt and pants and scurrying back to his office.

Twenty-four years old, with the weight of an entire nation already resting on his shoulders, Ryouichi was the picture of exhaustion. King Hiroto, who expected highly of his first son, ladled issue after issue upon Ryouichi. The Crown Prince had become so involved in Hurricane's governing – starting at the young age of twelve, filing documents regarding the nobles' agricultural enclosure movement to the south – that it seemed he could inherit the thrown at any time. King Hiroto, ever since his beloved queen's death, had almost seemed fearful of his end. Even so, he prepared his heir like no other, and Ryouichi had developed into a faithful, impressively skilled young prince.

Mariko sometimes wondered what would have happened if she had been Crown Princess. Would she be able to bear such a stressful title? Then again, the circumstances that she had grown up in had probably molded her current personality, even if she didn't quite like some of her features.

Shy, quiet, maybe a little stubborn. Curious, like a kitten and just as soft, people would say, but just as much of a worrywart as Ren. Katsurou and Sumiko, older and more mature, appeared to be adequate secondary heirs to the throne, while the fourth child remained a thorn in the crown's side, a lame horse that slowed down the team.

"Couldn't sleep?" asked Ryouichi, scribbling something in his notepad.

"No," replied Mariko. It was half true, wasn't it?

"Is Sumi okay?" His perceptiveness caught her off guard, and she eyed him warily. Nowadays, his head was constantly bent over some document or the other, forever chained to his office desk. It was either in his office, or running the most complex negotiations that Mariko could not even begin to comprehend the reasons for.

"How did you know?"

"I heard her, same as you." Ryouichi, the all-knowing. He tucked his pen into the pocket of his folder and closed it, looking up now. "What's up?"

"That was my question," answered Mariko, ambling over and sitting next to him. It hit her abruptly, like running into a wall she couldn't see; it pained her to realize that in the span of only a three years, since the time their mother died, her oldest brother had become someone else almost entirely. Simply three years, and she felt like she didn't know him at all. There was a wall, vague and hazy, but there all the same. This was the Crown Prince of Hurricane – still her brother, but not quite.

Three years of working, growing, changing. Here he was, in all his royal glory, and she hardly recognized him. If it were not for his familiar face and flop of blue hair, she would have believed herself to be living in someone else's palace, in someone else's life.

"Well," Ryouichi said, scooping up a leather saddlebag, "I've got some documents in here from the local post office. Will you sort them out with me?"

He spoke as if she would decline. He knew, in a way, that she wanted almost nothing to do with the royal work, even though she was destined to. She didn't want to be married off, but the time was close. Mariko shut the thought away adamantly, returning to her brother.

"Sure, why not?" She plucked a few papers out, and glanced them over dubiously. "What is _this_?"

"That's the national holiday list."

"That's random," she commented, noticing that the mid-summer festival coincided with the _Eagle's Day_ this year. Eight days after her seventeenth birthday. She sighed and handed the paper to Ryouichi, who instructed her to differentiate between "nobility/capital", "town", and "miscellaneous".

And then she pulled out a series of documents, each paled filled with lists and lists of sons of nobles. They were all the oldest of their families, targeted from a range of 16 years of age to 26. There was a small note scrawled at the top, hastily:

_Suitors. July 22__nd__._

"Ryo…" Mariko looked up, and she dreaded his next response. "What's this?"

"A list," he replied flatly, taking it gently from her hands. His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them back up. The prince let his hair slide across his face, obscuring his eyes. "A list of suitors."

"_Suitors_?" she echoed.

"Yes." Ryouichi was never a forceful older brother. He was patient, kind, and understanding. If Mariko hoped for anything to stay the same, for anything to have been kept during those three years that they'd drifted apart, she hoped that this would remain the same.

"For me?"

"Yes."

He held the paper, shoulders sagging.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, folding the list in two and sliding it back into the saddlebag. _I was told to_, he seemed to say.

Mariko didn't want to think that her brother was making excuses. In fact, she simply didn't want to think anything at all.

"I understand," she forced out, her voice thick. Mariko brushed a strand of blue hair behind her ear, continuing to sort files.

He didn't reply, only observed her for a few moments. He reached over and touched her hand, startling her. Mariko forced her wistfulness down; his hand, once soft and smooth, was calloused and stained with ink. It was a hand that had always held hers, a hand that cared for the baby sister simply because she was dear to him.

And she still was.

"Ryo," she began, lightly touching a splash of ink across his knuckles. "Do you remember that one summer festival, the one where Katsurou fell into the big Koi pond?"

"I do," chuckled her older brother. "How many years ago was that?"

_A lifetime ago,_ she mentally answered.

"Four years ago," she said. "Before Momma died."

His face then stirred an old, suppressed flutter inside her, a hidden grief that she thought she had put away.

Ryouichi smiled longingly, and she was shatteringly sad.

**_.x.X.x._**

_ Who was it that told me there was a watery history of…a watery history of what?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Two days in the River Country, one day ambling across the border, and the second at an incredibly fast speed. Mariko knew, as she always had, that she would definitely _not_ be a shinobi. Not at all. No way.

"I didn't know that donkeys could move so fast," muttered Katsurou, sitting up in his makeshift throne of canvas and boxes, one of which jabbed a corner into his back. He ignored it, just as he ignored the scowl of distaste that Ren threw his way. The wagon churned along, skidding up dirt and stones as the two donkeys at the front trotted away tirelessly.

Mariko, who had tired her spoiled princess feet by walking for four hours straight, was now curled up next to her brother, poking fun at him in an attempt to stop worrying, instead. Tobirama occasionally stopped by, telling them that they were "so-and-so close to Ame, and about so-and-so hours away from the Wind Country".

"He's touching you," stated Katsurou blandly.

"What?" Mariko made a face at his wording, and he rolled his eyes.

"No, I meant that whenever he comes around, he plays with your hair."

Well, Mariko supposed that this was true. Tobirama had developed a tendency to slide a casual hand around her shoulders, or simply run his fingers nonchalantly through her hair whenever he could.

"Why didn't we cut through the Rain Country?" inquired Mariko, trying to disrupt Katsurou's train of thought.

"Because we don't have solid negotiations with them," Tobirama cut in, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. "Besides that, don't change the subject. I know you were talking about me."

Almost on cue, he came alongside the wagon's side and lightly touched her elbow. Katsurou made a face, rolling his eyes pointedly at Mariko.

"You know, if you keep doing that, your eyes will get stuck in weird places," Mariko accused.

"Sure they will," Katsurou complied, laughing. Ren sauntered over at that point, curious as to what was going on.

"I'm sure Yuuna would find that _so_ attractive," he deadpanned, playing with the cuff of his fancily embroidered Hurricane-style sleeve.

"She would," agreed Katsurou. Then, "And where did you get that shirt?"

"Obviously from Iwagakure," snorted Ren sardonically. "Your sister, of course."

"She gives you too many gifts," retorted Katsurou, shaking his head.

"No, you're just not good enough to receive any."

_Ouch_, Mariko thought, cringing. Ren could spit out fiery insults without even thinking twice. He was both stupid and brave, prone to exaggeration, and hot-tempered, all at once. The red hues of his copper hair glinted in the afternoon sun, as if to emphasize his currently burning glare.

"You know," Mariko said dryly, "if you frown too much, your eyebrows might stay that way forever. I'm sure Sumi would find that attractive, too."

Ren's scowl briefly morphed into surprise, before he returned to glaring at her. Tobirama chuckled, dropping his hand as if to hold hers, before drawing back at the last minute. Mariko didn't let this go unnoticed; she turned sharply to him, just as he looked away.

"You just like making fun of people's faces, don't you?" Katsurou laughed, pausing only to clutch his wounded side.

"Don't push yourself," Ren scolded, and for a surprising moment, his face softened. Mariko, interested in this side of him, waited to see if it would last.

It didn't.

"Of _course_," drawled Katsurou, wrinkling his nose. Ren scoffed and turned away, an arm casually resting on the hilt of his blade and eyeing the horizon. Katsurou watched him go, silently. He exchanged glances with Mariko, who patted his arm gently.

"We're almost to the Wind," Tobirama commented, breaking the passive silence.

A border guard at his station shifted upon seeing the travelers, something interesting spurring curiosity into his dull day.

"Welcome to the desert," Katsurou said dryly, eyeing the road, which began to meld into lengths and lengths of sand.

The day was nearly over, the sun setting into a backdrop of sloping dunes.

Mariko readjusted her position, stretching her aching, numb legs that had been folded beneath her for hours. Katsurou leaned back on the folded canvas — some supplies had been either used or removed to allow for his makeshift bed — and closed his eyes. Mariko attempted (and failed) to find a comfortable position among the prodding, poking box corners. Tobirama glanced over and promptly shed his jacket, the familiar navy blue one with the ample fur collar that he'd exchanged for his heavy, hastily thrown on armor. He tucked it beneath her, pulling the fur hood out to make a fluffy pillow. Mariko mouthed a sleepy thanks, sighing into the fabric.

Tobirama lightly touched her cheek with the back of his knuckles. Light and wispy, like a feather, he gently traced her face, before withdrawing.

"Get some rest, Shorty," he murmured, walking away from the wagon. "Good night."

"G'night," mumbled Mariko, absently touching her cheek, lips curling into a dreamy smile.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Is it strange that I find his hands lovely? Is it strange that whenever he holds my hand — and he does, only reluctantly — I want to stay there for a long time, just to memorize the curves of his fingers and the permanent calluses on the fingertips? _

_ Is it strange that I want, if I had the chance, to stroke his hair? It is white and soft, like snowfall on a quiet New Year's Eve, when the palace is silent and everyone watches the snowflakes stick to the big windows, just for a moment._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Mariko, currently in the midst of a staring competition against a new palette of face pastels, debated why in the world she was even getting prepared. Lemma, the kindly old maid, was a buzzing busybody, clucking over the girl insistently.

"Lemma, I _don't_ want to wear—"

"Child, you are going to wear _this_." Lemma held up a gown, incredibly elaborate and fearsomely thick, with up to five layers. "Oh, don't make that face, your mother's had _twelve_."

Mariko suddenly wished that the one caring for her was Aunt Tari and not Lemma, but then again, Aunt Tari would've probably whipped out that twelve-layered dress with the high collar and tight bodice and accepted no protest whatsoever. The Second Princess wisely kept her mouth shut and nodded tightly. She supposed she was lucky that Aunt Tari, a member of Hurricane's royal court via the late queen, was an indispensible informant to the crown. If she didn't pass the town whispers to Ryouichi, she was relaying important activities and documents to King Hiroto, making her a very busy woman.

The dress was pretty, she had to admit. It had a distinct Hurricane style, but the sleeves were more flowing and lightweight, the bodice wrapped in silk ribbons and the actual skirt overlapped in frilly, sleek, western-style layers. It had a particular taste to it — mainland-style — that echoed an old design Mariko had once spied Sumiko sketching. If Sumiko was not at fault for the new trends in Hurricane, then there must've been some other Hurricane fashionista adopting continental styles to the traditional islander garb.

Purple hues, with a rosy flare in the hidden layers of the dress, accompanied by a silver sash. This, Mariko got into easily, but Lemma grandly threw a towel across her shoulders and wielded the palette of white face paints.

"Don't make faces," Lemma scolded.

"It's easier if I put it on myself," complained Mariko, wriggling away and squeezing her eyes shut as the maid patted on some powder and paste. If she had to say anything, Mariko would say that the pastels were a nuisance, but at the same time, she would feel uncomfortable without them. A child that had grown up with them, Mariko was not one to suddenly change her traditions due to a bold whim.

"Don't move!" snapped the gray-haired woman, snapping a towel dangerously close to Mariko's face. She finished applying the pastels' base, and then promptly added a dark purple eye shadow. Personally, Mariko found it too heavy for her preference, but did not argue. At least her hair had not been pulled back into a horrid, tight bun that exposed her face too much. _It's because I have chubby cheeks_, she claimed. Not quite true, but Mariko was always self-conscious. She was so self-conscious that she stopped minding the pale, ghostliness of the face paints and instead thought of them as a way to cover up her true face.

Her hair was allowed to stay in a loose updo, several wavy strands framing her face. Lemma pinned it with a flower-shaped barrette, and then patted her on the shoulders.

"You should be ready, my dear."

"Thank you, Lemma."

"Now go and be yourself, child." Lemma smiled fondly, giving the princess one last onceover. "You are beautiful."

Mariko almost replied that she was not beautiful at all, but she wasn't in the mood for another of Lemma's lectures that she was simply insulting herself, and all the other girls out there.

"Go stun them," added the old woman, clasping her hands together. "Shoo!" She waved Mariko off, and the girl gathered her five layered skirts and hobbled off in her boring, old ballet flats. Shoes had been one of the things she purposely failed to remind Lemma of, for the sake of comfort and ease.

She padded down the hall, the familiar scuff of her worn slippers on the tile providing an echoing background. At the moment, the steady _shh-pa, shh-pa, shh-pa _rhythm of her dragging toes and wary steps were the only things keeping her grounded. Mariko had dreaded this day — the lovely 22nd of July — for ages. Just down the hall, down the stairs, through the courtyard, into the central wing, up the main foyer, down another hall, and into the dining hall, there were twenty suitors, awaiting her arrival. It was a larger number than she expected. Ten would have been a large groups, but twice that?

_Twenty suitors_.

"Twenty suitors. Suitors." The word tasted sour in her mouth, a frothy dryness brought to her throat that sent a bundle of nerves quivering in her stomach. She paused midstep, a hand flying to the wall to steady herself. Then, almost comically, she laughed. "_Suitors_."

"Are you talking to yourself, baby sister?" came Ryouichi's voice from behind. She whirled around, and there he was, dressed just as fancily as she was. The Crown Prince had abandoned the less formal daily court wear, and rather than the crisp white dress shirt and occasional tie, he favored a Hurricane-style eastern collar, dark navy with golden embroidered cuffs.

"Are you going out riding?" retorted Mariko, eyeing his dusty hunting boots. He looked downward incredulously. They both began to laugh, for he'd only changed half his outfit in a rush.

"Perhaps," he chuckled, scuffing a muddy heel on the tile. When a streak of dirt came off, his eyebrows shot up and Mariko giggled. "Mari, go to the dining room. I'll be right there."

He hastened away, taking care not to leave any more dusty tracks on the spotless tile. Mariko wished he'd stayed; now she had to walk in alone. Katsurou and Sumiko were not around, having returned to their respective nations after visiting for the _Eagle's Day_ and mid-summer festival on the 15th.

The dinner party began relatively quiet, and when she entered, her father immediately took her arm and led her to the front of the dining hall. A few of the bolder, more talkative potential spouses came up to her in the first ten minutes, initiating conversation with far too much zest.

"Lady Princess," one of them said – he was an older man, probably near the higher end of the age limit that Ryouichi had set after much internal debate – dipping into a graceful bow and lightly kissing the back of her hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," replied Mariko. She was hardly trying; court behavior had begun to come instinctively, robotically. She smiled and dipped into her quick curtsies, dishing out compliments and accepting them with the finest eloquence and properness she could muster. It was like an exercise – the more she practiced, the better she became, and the more easily she performed. If she had anything, Mariko had an endurance for court sessions like these. She once abhorred them as much as Sumiko, but she found that she could get away with only paying attention in halves, sometimes drifting off but always keeping an ear open. It was much easier to distract oneself, she thought. Sumiko, who had never been able to quietly sit in a corner, had protested each and ever time. The life of the party.

Several were handsome, and several were ugly, but most of them were just in between and regular.

_As if I'm one to judge_, Mariko mocked at herself, disgusted. _I can't just pick the prettiest boy out there. He could turn out to be the worst one of them all._

At this, Mariko inwardly grimaced, because she hated this kind of internal debate. Wherever she tried to go, whatever argument she tried to fix, she just ended up becoming more critical.

"Sister." Ryouichi had taken a post next to the Fourth Princess, temporarily warding off any suitors simply with his presence. The moment the heir to the throne came around, almost protectively, every single man in the room vying for the young princess's attention would automatically give him a wide berth. "Have you talked to all of your guests, tonight?"

"I believe so. I talked to most of them during dinner." Mariko neatly folded her hands in front of her, enjoying the loose, airy sleeves that draped down lightly. The bodice, expectedly, was still as tight as she remembered – this was not something she imagined Sumiko would change, for sake of appearance – but the result was flattering on her rather slim, uninteresting figure. Mariko had never quite envied her sister's voluptuous form until she grew older. She clearly recalled being fourteen and looking like she was ten.

"The few siblings from the north, and their cousins, five total," Ryouichi was saying, "were quite interested. Some of these young lords are rather shy, quite like you. Others, I must say, jump at you like there are no boundaries."

"Which is why _you_ are here," Mariko finished, smiling briefly. She heard him chuckle dryly, but did not look up at him.

"Lemma is mad you're not wearing the shoes that Aunt Tari sent," he murmured, casting an amused glance at her.

"I'd rather greet my _suitors_ properly instead of tripping over them upon their entrance," Mariko returned snidely, smirking.

"Mariko," he chastised lightly. She wiped the crooked smile of her face and asked him what he thought. Ryouichi hesitated, before answer, "Lord Tetsuya from Garnet is a good man. He's about Sumi's age, and he shows much prospect in regards to—"

"So you're concerned about politics?"

"No, I'm concerned about how well he'll take care of you." He folded his arms, pointedly taking on a stance that made him appear just as tall and strong as Katsurou. Even if Ryouichi did not make a move, he had an air of authority that came with his title, and he certainly earned it.

"Lord Tetsuya," Mariko said, testing it in her mouth. Her lips were chapped and her mouth was dry, out of nervousness, and she had a tendency to stumble over her words, thus prompting her to rehearse every single line. "And which one is he?"

Ryouichi pointed out a fair-looking gentleman conversing with a few other men, neatly dressed in a white dress shirt and formal slacks. He noticed them looking, and he nodded respectfully to both prince and princess.

"And you think it would be good to marry him?"

"If I had a choice for you, yes."

His voice threw her off. Ryouichi surveyed the crowd, and Mariko studied his face. His tone had been casual, the same way he'd carried on the entire conversation. However, the moment he mentioned making a choice for her, he had forced it out. It was subtle, a little lilt and nuance that only someone close to him would have noticed.

He was worried, and considerably so. For what, Mariko had no idea, but she completely trusted her oldest brother.

Even if seemed like she had to meet him again after three years.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ Number four, the fourth child. Why make such a fuss over me?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Because Ryouichi picked him, out of this crowd of twenty, Mariko gravitated to the young Lord Tetsuya of Garnet. He had, as befitting his hometown, a beautifully set, asscher cut garnet ring on his left hand. It was a brilliant red, shining and sometimes distracting. Mariko found herself glancing at it time and time again, until he noticed.

"I see you've taken a fancy to my ring, Lady Princess?" Lord Tetsuya said, smiling.

"I was admiring its lovely cut," Mariko said, trying not to flush from embarrassment. She wasn't sure she liked being caught distracted by a pretty, shiny gem.

"It is cut by Hurricane's finest jeweler," he said proudly, and when she looked surprised, he added, "At least, I think him to be the finest."

She laughed, a polite, proper princess's giggle. (Sumiko told her that her princess giggle was either the most annoying or the most cute thing one could hear.)

"Lady Princess," the lord said, lowering his voice. "Forgive me if I'm at all intrusive, but is there an issue of some sort preoccupying the Crown Prince?"

Worried about the Crown Prince. Mariko deflated a little bit, but she supposed it was natural for all the people of Hurricane to worry about their future king.

"I'd be lying if I said he wasn't," she answered, glancing over at Ryouichi. He was conversing with Aunt Tari, who had a foreign representative stationed next to her silently. She didn't recognize the diplomat, for he did not wear any significant clan or nation emblems. Mariko herself, being of the royal family, always had a jewel-shaped crest on her back, the symbol of an emerald. She actually found their clan crest amusing, as if it was a joke. It was an emblem in the shape of a diamond, but yet they were the royal family of emeralds.

"He seemed…distracted?" Lord Tetsuya asked, peering over at the conversing group.

"I agree." Mariko pulled her attention away from her older brother, who was now rubbing his temples in pain. "Would it be vain to say he was worried about me?"

Lord Tetsuya smiled. He was a pleasant young man, one who tried to stand tall and fill out his father's title, but still a boy nonetheless. He had a decent, caring face, and was lean and strong. He shared common interests as well as other things she admired of him – he was a horseman, as were many, and he enjoyed passing his time by helping out his father's stable hands – and Mariko would not have minded meeting him again. "Lady Princess," he said, shyly leaning closer, "I do not think that would be vain at all."

She smiled back at him, a little tightly, for she had just seen Ryouichi snatch a folder from Aunt Tari and storm out of the room. When her aunt glanced over, Mariko immediately pretended to be in deep conversation with her accompanying lord. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her aunt sigh and clasp her hands together, before turning to the diplomat and nodding. Vaguely, Mariko picked up a mainland accent and strained to see any sort of identification.

Fire Country.

A small plate on his traveler's bag, the mainland representative carried the symbol for _fire_ on the shoulder strap.

"Is seems the Crown Prince is dealing with the Fire Country," commented Lord Tetsuya quietly. "Perhaps there are stressful negotiations going on."

"Yes," murmured Mariko, not quite listening to him. "It would be beneficial to be on good terms with them, wouldn't it?"

"It certainly would, Lady Princess. May I have the pleasure of getting you a drink?"

"Certainly, thank you."

As soon as he left, a few other suitors took the chance to crowd in on her. Mariko's mind followed Ryouichi, but her body was slung into various natural poses by the hand of some puppeteer that she was immensely thankful for.

Aunt Tari and the Fire Country emissary left the room, leaving her unanswered questions to linger in the air.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ Sometimes I wonder if Ryouichi's glasses are fake. There are times when he takes them off, but his eyes see more clearly than if he was wearing them._

_ It's strange, isn't it?_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The night ended with a friendly farewell to her group of twenty potential husbands, each candidate spending one last minute in privacy with the princess before heading out the doors. Lord Tetsuya kneeled and gracefully dipped his head, taking her hand. He wished her a good night, told her to send the busy Crown Prince his regards, and followed the man before him out the door. He blended into the night without much difficulty, dull, dark hair and plain brown eyes melding into the shadows. The only things that kept him visible were his crisp white shirt and the slight glint of his garnet ring.

When they were all gone, Mariko climbed to her rooms, peeled off the dress — at some point, it had become a snug belt, somewhat comfortable and supportive — and laid back on her bed. She waited for a full five minutes, pondering the night, before poking around for her nightclothes. She couldn't find her usual nightgown, so instead she pulled out an old T-shirt and loose slacks, borrowed from Katsurou's old room.

Then, as she had planned ever since he walked out the door, Mariko went in search of Ryouichi.

Surprisingly enough, he was actually in his room. She had expected him to be up in his office, working away, but there he was, tossing paper after paper aside. Mariko knocked, rapping her knuckles crisply on the door, even though it was slightly ajar.

His head snapped up, eyes widening. Hastily, Ryouichi gathered all his papers and rapidly stuffed them into his bag before she could see them.

"Come in, Mari."

Mariko stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She noticed that as soon as she came in, Ryouichi grabbed his glasses and put them on.

"What are you doing?" she inquired, curious.

"It was nothing."

"Can I see?"

"No." He firmly held onto his bag.

"Can you give me a hint?"

"I'm helping you out," he offered, buckling the flap of the bag shut and shoving it behind him. Ryouichi tucked it under his bed and stood. "If you want me to help you, then don't interfere."

"I'm not, I'm just curious," replied Mariko defensively, pursing her lips. Her older brother sighed, running a hand through his mop of sapphire hair. "You should get your hair cut."

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

"You'll give me a bowl cut," he retorted dryly, smirking. She smirked back, hands on her hips.

"Oh really? You shouldn't think so lowly of my hairdressing skills."

"Since when could you cut hair?"

"Well, I did Katrina's mane and tail—"

"That's not the same," he laughed, reaching over and pinching her cheek. Mariko squealed and pushed him away in protest, but a smile stretched across her lips. His face softened, and he regarded her carefully. "You presented yourself nicely today, baby sister. Go get some rest."

He was shooing her, and she supposed that obeying would be easier on the fatigued, stressed prince.

"Okay," agreed the little blunette, casting a small good night over her shoulder before exiting his room.

_Trying to help you_.

She heard him grab his bag and take out the papers again, the loud shuffling of papers evident from the hallway. Mariko ignored this, hoping that this suitor thing would be over soon. Then again, she didn't really want to get married.

"Then don't do it!" Sumiko had told her. Great example _she_ turned out to be; falling in love with her _Prince Charming_ and having a blast on the mainland.

So much for not marrying.

Would it be with Lord Tetsuya? Mariko, an avid reader of impossibly cheesy love stories and fated romances, had looked forward to a flutter in her chest, with little butterflies swirling in her stomach. Disappointingly, nothing came — it was a cold, hard pit in her stomach, with no emotions and no reactions. She honestly wouldn't mind becoming the future governor of Garnet's wife.

But, she wouldn't mind even more if she just didn't get married.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_The sand is warm beneath her toes, and she momentarily enjoys the warmth beneath her feet before the group gets a little too far away, and Tobirama turns around to look for her._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Naturally, on a hot, sunny day, she found one of the cooler rooms. Out of the way, secluded in its own little corner of the palace, a roomy recital stage with a polished, white grand piano at its center. Mariko's fingers glided along a scale, neatly ending on middle C. The last note rang out into the silent performance hall, empty of people, her only audience a few rays of dazzling sunlight through the floor to ceiling windows.

The rustle of trees just outside, leaves fluttering and fragmenting the light, was comforting. If she stopped and just listened for a brief moment, she liked listening for the bird trills and whistles that sometimes permeated the glass windows.

Her favorite part of the room was the view — a simple, clear outlook over the northeastern fields, where the paddocks that Katrina usually roamed stretched over into the back courtyard. Early as it was, it seemed that the dappled gray mare was not out yet, probably munching some sweet stalks of grass over on the other end of the fields, but Mariko appreciated the scenery nonetheless. The sunlight was cheery and the air crisp, but Mariko's fingers lapsed into a sad tune. She imagined that her fingers were horses, slowly trotting across a dusty, dry road of gravel and packed dirt. The tune was tinny and melancholic, descending into a minor tune.

Hurricane's Lament. At least, a variation of it. It wouldn't be right to play the actual song, since it a song of death and funerals. Instead, she improvised a slightly different song. Still sad, but not exactly the same.

"Mariko."

A gentle voice, as gentle as the gliding notes of the piano. A voice that obviously belonged to Ryouichi, because the tenseness in his soft, familiar voice gave it away. But his tone was not one of admiration, the way he spoke when they played duets together, Mariko with a brandishing chord on the piano, and Ryouichi with a light trill on his violin. His voice was heavy, almost pained, and all at once, she _knew_.

"What's up, Ryo?" she asked lightly, pretending that all was well. He glanced down, soft wisps of blue falling into his face. His always-slipping glasses inevitably slipped down his nose, and he habitually pushed them back up. Dark bags encircled his eyes, and his shoulders sagged from weary nights up. He wondered, _Would she know how hard I fought for her this time?_

"It's been decided," he replied flatly.

No.

_No_.

"Didn't I just have like, ten suitors yesterday?! How can it be decided?!" Mariko yelled, slamming her hands down on the piano's top. The instrument vibrated, and her books full of pieces clattered down with horrid clangs against the keys. Her outburst was quite frightening, but Ryouichi showed little reaction besides another heavy sigh. She waited, waited for him to correct her, to say in his usual, optimistic voice, "Oh baby sis, have you forgotten already? You had _twenty_ suitors, not ten."

It never came, and he merely looked at his feet.

"I tried, Mariko," he told her weakly. His voice nearly broke, and Mariko went quiet. "I'm sorry, baby sister."

He stumbled back to the door and leaned against the doorframe, looking as if he would collapse.

"I really did," he insisted.

Tears sprang to Mariko's eyes, for she had never been grateful for her brother's work. She had never realized that the burden he'd taken on would steal so much from him. The little blunette strode forward and embraced her older brother, his lanky arms falling tiredly around her.

"I know, Ryo. Thank you."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ He had given her a gift upon her departure, as had many._

_ "I truly enjoyed spending a few precious hours with you, Lady Princess," he told her, smiling gently. Briefly, gentlemanly, he pressed a quick kiss to her hand out of formality, bowing as he did so. A small box was produced, and he pressed it into her hands. "A gift, from my beloved town of Garnet."_

_ She opened it a crack, and saw a dainty necklace, red with rubies and garnets and a few shining diamonds._

_ "This is lovely," Mariko told him graciously. "Thank you."_

_ "I wish you the greatest happiness," he replied, "all of us do."_

_ And she glanced back at Aunt Tari, who held Katrina by the reins and had soldiers stationed at her side. The party that would see of their Second Princess._

_ "I've only had the pleasure of knowing you for a few mere hours, Lady Princess," he went on, "but I think I've formed a well enough picture to assure you that your fiancé is a lucky man, truly."_

_ She couldn't help but feel distracted, and it saddened her that she hardly paid any attention to this kind young lord directly in front of her. Ryouichi, standing at the castle gates, slipping back inside. She supposed that if she did not get a chance to speak with her older brother — who should have seen her off, she thought bitterly — then she should at least thank those who did._

_ "Thank you, Lord Tetsuya." Mariko smiled at the young man, hardly a few years older than herself. "Your kindness warms my heart."  
"And your happiness warms mine," he replied, smiling widely. He bid her farewell before mounting his horse and turning away, joining the crowd that had gathered to see off their last princess. Mariko swallowed, seeing her cousins bustling about and Lemma taking the reins of her horse._

_ "Hime-sama," the old maid said softly. "It is time to go."_

_ Mariko cast one last look over her shoulder, straining to see even when she was ushered up onto her horse. Tucked away in an inconspicuous corner, a hooded prince who dared to slip into the crowd of citizens, hardly noticeable in his guise. He lifted a hand in farewell, and silently turned away._

Goodbye,_ she mouthed, holding up a hand._

_ The mounted group turned around a corner, and set foot onto the main road, leading straight out of the capital city._

* * *

1) Ah, see, Takeshi gets it from SOMEWHERE, you know. Apparently, it's his mother's side of the family.

Don't know Takeshi? That's a shame... Blue Hair and Green Eyes, people! (or just my deviantART...there's an entire Hurricane folder)

2) I fear that I've turned Ryouichi into Ginoza from Psycho-Pass, lol.

3) Which is ironic because Ginoza said three times fast sounds like diNozzo, and diNozzo is pretty much Katsurou...

4) Okay, I'll stop it with the references you don't get...

5) KISSUUUU.

6) Meow.


	16. Fire

A couple of things:

1) GO CHECK OUT **MARIKO'S ASK ACCOUNT. **Link is on profile.

2) Redheads, everywhere.

3) Debut: Sassy Sand Shinobi

4) Minato and the Hokage are so epic. Madara just got REJECTEDDD! And Sasuke...oh lol, sawyer7mage was so right.

5) ONTO THE STORY /pulling total Kishi's and loving my flashbacks/

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto, but I can happily say that I can claim my world of Hurricane...and the stories, lol. I love story time!

* * *

**Chapter 16: ****Fire**

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ It's a long way home…_

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Welcome to Sunagakure!" came the greeting, awfully sarcastic and not at all interested in the group of foreign shinobi. Under her voice, the young kunoichi muttered, "Why am I here again?"

A sharp-eyed boy elbowed her, and then turned to the group. They must've been around Hiruzen's age, a group of genin set out at a village outpost for some little mission they were ordered to complete.

"Excuse Chiyo's rudeness," mended the boy lightly. He had a bird's nest of spiky black hair that he attempted to tie down in a messy topknot, and had donned a Sand-style sash and trousers. "She tends to get snappy when she's tired."

"It's no problem," said Hyuuga Natsuki. "We are simply stopping by for some provisions."

"Konoha, right?" piped up a third boy, slightly younger with thick eyebrows and a pleasant smile. He had a similar facial structure as the red-haired girl, so Mariko assumed they were siblings. "Welcome to one of Suna's travel posts! How can we help you?"

"We just need to stock up on some provisions, and if you have any medics, we would appreciate it if he or she helped out with our one wounded," Natsuki informed the boy, who nodded attentively.

"Of course! Chiyo-nee, can you grab sensei and—"

"Ebizo, why do you ask _me_ to do everything?" snapped the fiery young kunoichi, folding her arms. She turned to the pregnant Hyuuga woman and snapped, "What do you need? I'll get it for you."

Natsuki gave the girl a list of things they needed replenished — various non-perishable foods, more water jugs, etc. — and the girl gave them a critical onceover quickly. She scowled at all of them, peering longer at Ren, Katsurou, and Mariko, who were dressed nothing like western mainlanders that day. In fact, Ren was still wearing his Hurricane-style shirt, matching Mariko, who had stuffed an old blouse into her bag and chosen it that morning. Katsurou had taken a liking to Kumogakure region apparel, and had created a mash-up of Lightning and Frost styles.

The girl, Chiyo, squinted at them. Her gaze fell on Tobirama, who had wandered his way over to Mariko, and her eyes widened. He shot her a vicious glare, so very characteristic of him, that practically shouted, _What are you looking at, girl? Move._ Chiyo pressed her lips together and stubbornly refused to meet his gaze, stalking away and shoving her younger brother aside the process.

Almost like magic, visible strings of bluish light flew from her fingers, latching onto a few boxes and containers in a series of sheds behind the post. Mariko watched in awe as the girl maneuvered the objects over to their wagon.

"We've mostly got instant noodles," she said. "Sorry." She hardly sounded apologetic at all, but Mariko supposed that this was just her personality. When the girl caught Mariko's eyes, Mariko smiled gently. Harrumphing, Chiyo folded her arms and turned away. The black-haired boy laughed nervously and continued talking to Natsuki. A Sand ninja, presumably the medic, trotted over to them and went to take a look at Katsurou.

The little Wind Country townsfolk peered at their shinobi post with interest. The Konoha assembly of travelers had piqued their interest, and a few came over to start friendly conversation. Mariko found herself tucked close to Tobirama's side, greeting a few of the people. One man actually recognized her.

"Could it be, the Lady Princess?" he exclaimed, loud enough to attract some more attention. His eyes caught the blue of Katsurou's hair, and he continued, "And Lord Prince! Oh river horses above, that I'd live to see the day…"

He was elderly but friendly, with a booming baritone voice and a heavy-set, muscular body. The old man wore ragged clothing, seeing as he was a construction worker for the town, but he was all smiles. The most interesting part, however, was the fact that he had an islander's accent. Particularly, an Amethyst accent.

Katsurou perked up upon this familiar accent, turning around in the wagon and causing the already-harried medic to scold him.

"Don't move," said the Sand shinobi, slightly annoyed.

"Sorry," replied Katsurou, still straining to get a view of the Hurricane man.

"Lady Princess," cried the man, "my name is Mashima of Amethyst. It is an honor."

Mashima swept into a creaky but noble bow, kneeling before the blunette. The townspeople chattered and watched on in curiosity, slightly confused but still intrigued. The group of children, the three shinobi, curiously edged a little closer. Mariko found that Chiyo was staring at her unabashedly, but ignored the girl for the time being.

"The last time I saw you, Lady Princess," said Mashima, "was when you were born. My daughter is a medic nin, and she was on call in case the queen experienced complications."

Mariko's mouth opened and then closed without a word, a fish out of water with not much to say. Or rather, she didn't quite know what to say.

"The pleasure is mine," she finally croaked out, trying to figure out where her easy court etiquette had gone off to. She supposed her ability to speak eloquently had eloped with her automatic court grace, and she was now left with a big, blank space that she had no idea how to fill. "It is truly a surprise to find an islander so far from home," she added. From behind, Ren snorted, but she brushed that aside.

"Lady Princess, you say this, but yet _you _are here as well, no?" Mashima smiled, standing once again.

"I was sent to the mainland for a political—"

"To complete a marriage proposal," Tobirama cut in brashly, breaking into Mariko's awkward line. She inwardly thanked him, but at the same time wanted to elbow him. Realizing that his jacket was still slung around her shoulders — she had kept it on all day — Mariko shrugged it off and returned it to him.

Mashima the old man looked incredibly amused, but very pleased.

"With Konoha's Senju? Splendid, indeed," he chortled, firmly patting Tobirama on the shoulder. "Son, you take care of our princess now, you hear me? Us island folk won't accept anything but the best for our beloved royals."

"Of course," Tobirama answered, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Mariko tugged his shirt gently, and he glanced down. "Nothing but the best, hmm?"

Mashima chose that moment to amble over to Katsurou, greeting him similarly. A friendly conversation lasted them until dusk fell upon the sky, turning the horizon into a stretch of hazy orange and red hues. A simple meal of instant noodles, courtesy of Suna's young, hot-tempered Chiyo, was set up.

"Instant noodles go in water," Katsurou stated flatly.

"I'm not stupid," spat Ren snappishly.

"Sure," agreed Katsurou, wiggling out of a few bandages despite the dirty look that Mariko shot him, "and that's why you don't have any water in that gigantic pot of yours."

Ren scowled. "And are you going to _do_ anything about that?"

"We could ask the Suna shinobi for water," suggested Katsurou, with a mild shrug. "Or would you prefer to refrain from stooping so low as to ask for water?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Ren, threatening to throw a large ladling spoon at the Second Prince. "Are you insulting me, island fish?"

"Is that what it's come to, you mainland prick?"

As soon as the antagonistic tension snapped into name-calling ridiculousness, Mariko broke in, annoyed.

"Will you two just shut up?!"

Both men turned to look at her in shock before settling down into a brooding silence. Tobirama, quite entertained by the meek blunette's outburst, picked up his smirk again. When she whipped around to glare at him, he dropped his smile and glared right back.

"It can't be helped that we're in the middle of a _desert_," Ren muttered to himself, looking sour.

"Water," Mariko told Tobirama blandly, pointing at the pot. He scoffed, offended.

"Are you ordering me around?" he asked flatly, eyes narrowing.

"Yes." She reached over and poked him in the ribs, but he caught her hand halfway. Mariko bit her lower lip and held her glower as long as she could, but eventually dissolved into a small giggle when he reached around and poked her in the side.

Tobirama finally obliged, materializing pure water out of thin air, filling the pot with ease. Ren, finally with something to do, stood up.

"I've got this," he said grandly, sweeping his arms in an overly dramatic fashion as he formed a couple of hand seals. He blew a steady stream of fire into the few branches of firewood beneath the propped up pot.

"Not-so-instant instant noodles, huh?" laughed Katsurou, causing Ren to splutter and nearly burn himself.

The old man Mashima came back around, offering each and every shinobi a bento meal, courtesy of the town.

"Save your energy for tomorrow, my Lord," he said to Katsurou. Turning to Mariko, he told her, "My wife and I wish you a good night. May the stars crown you with emeralds, Lady Princess."

Mariko thanked the kind old man, who hobbled away unevenly back to his town. Then, to the group's surprise, the two members of the young three-man cell ambled over and settled down next to them. Their sensei was still nowhere to be seen, but they didn't seem worried.

"So, are you like, a princess or something?" Chiyo asked directly.

"Well, yes," Mariko replied.

"From where?" said the girl bluntly.

"Hurricane."

Chiyo's brow furrowed, and then she replied, "The honeymooning island?"

This made Mariko smile. Hurricane was, in fact, a rather popular destination for holidays, vacations, and honeymoons. She could easily imagine a happy couple strolling along one of the pretty northern beaches, or maybe even taking a ski trip in the eastern central mountains. Mariko always liked to think that the capital city was the best hotspot, of course. While there were no long stretches of sand or snowy slopes, Esmeralda was home to beautiful architecture, wide picturesque avenues, and rolling plains. There was a little bit of everything, if one looked hard enough for it.

"That's right," Mariko laughed, offering the girl a kind smile. To her delight, Chiyo returned it, if only just a little bit. Mariko added, "I wouldn't want to go on a honeymoon there, though."

Chiyo snorted. "Of course not, that's like a _I'm taking my boyfriend home_ trip."

At this, Mariko burst into laughter, causing several people to glance her way. Chiyo seemed to have approved of this young woman who was hardly any taller or older than herself, and grinned. She completely ignored Tobirama, who was itching to settle himself somewhere closer to Mariko, and continued talking.

"Wouldn't that be awful? To go on a honeymoon and have like, all your family there? It's like not a honeymoon."

"Exactly," agreed Mariko, tucking a strand of blue hair behind her ear. "How about you? Would you go to Hurricane?"

Chiyo paused, considering the blunette carefully.

"I would," she said after a few moments. "It's kind of far, but I think that would be nice."

"Chiyo-nee, how would you even afford that?" piped up her younger brother.

"Shush, Ebizo. I'm a kunoichi, I can deal." The two siblings began bickering until the third member of their team, the polite but stoic boy with the unruly black hair, trotted over and promptly dragged them back to their post.

Tobirama sat himself down rather unceremoniously beside Mariko, crossing his legs and watching Ren unsuccessfully dish out instant noodles.

"This is the most unconventional way I've ever seen instant noodles served," snorted Katsurou, propped up against a rock.

"You're unconventional," snapped Ren, shoving a bowl at the wounded prince. "Is eating instant ramen below you, _Lord Prince_?"

"I love instant ramen, thank you," replied Katsurou snidely, pointedly taking a slurp of noodles despite the fact that they were piping hot. Mariko didn't say anything at that point, though she knew that Katsurou would take a bowl of plain rice over any sort of noodle any day, even if it was the bizarre _Udon de Crème _that most islanders took delight in.

"What's our travel plan for the next few days?" inquired the blunette, changing the subject abruptly. Katsurou, who was still poking fun at Ren's inadequate serving issues, paused and turned to listen.

"We'll travel along the border of the Wind and Rain, and reach the point where they meet with the unaffiliated land hosting Ishigakure," Tobirama informed them. "About two and a half days."

"How do you know this," said Ren, more out of general irritation than anything personal, "Didn't you just jump along on a whim?"

"I can read a map," replied Tobirama dryly. "I'm starting to wonder why you two haven't any clue what you plan to do upon arrival."

Katsurou folded his arms and pretended to stare at the fire while Ren spluttered indignantly and began spouting some spiel on how he was doing something and something else, how he was not from this area and had not had the opportunity to study a map, plus some other miscellaneous complaints.

Mariko's attention drifted away from Ren's incessantness, and she found herself watching Natsuki, who was holding an empty bowl and conversing with her clan members. Occasionally, her hand would drift to her belly and she would pause, as if in thought. Natsuki, with her hair like a midnight blue, moonlit night, would have a beautiful child, Mariko thought. She contemplated this for a while, and began imagining what her future nieces and nephews might look like. Would they all have blue hair, or would the trait be lost on some of them? She never quite understood how the Aokami hair gene was passed down, as it often sputtered out here and there, as it did with their distant relatives in Kiri. Would Sumiko's baby be like Ren, or would it be like her? Boy or girl? Mariko kind of wanted a niece, but she thought that a nephew out of Sumiko and Ren would be beautiful as well.

She didn't realize that Tobirama had called her name four times now.

"_Shorty_," he growled, a hand on her arm. Mariko snapped to attention, blinking a couple times.

"Yes?"

"Have you been _listening_?"

"Listening to what?"

Tobirama sighed, shaking his head. Under his breath, he muttered, "Never mind."

"What? Tell me," insisted Mariko. Tobirama simply rolled his eyes and got to his feet, ambling away to meet with a cloaked Sand nin who appeared to be the children's sensei. Mariko turned to her brother. "What? What was he saying?"

Katsurou simply laughed, only frustrating her more.

"We were talking about Lady Mito's hair," drawled Ren. "and if she would have a redheaded baby or not." He snorted midsentence, glancing after the white-haired Senju. "I have a feeling that he wanted to ask you if you wanted a blue-haired baby or not." Ren and Katsurou burst into simultaneous laughter, and Mariko flushed uncomfortably.

"I don't think he would ask that," she grumbled, glaring at her hands.

"Probably not," Katsurou agreed, "but it looked like he wanted to."

"I don't think he would even _think_ that," Mariko replied.

"Why? Because you two haven't even _done_ anything yet?" deadpanned Ren. Katsurou made a face and tried to elbow the other man, but Ren leapt to his feet and sauntered around the messily built fire.

"That's my _baby sister_, Ren," Katsurou said. "I don't want to _think_ about that."

"We're all mature adults, Lord Prince," snorted Ren. "Aren't we, Hime?"

"We're all mature except _you_, Ren," sneered Katsurou.

"Oh will you just _drop it_?!" hissed Mariko, setting her now-empty bowl down and leaping to her feet. _Seriously_! Mariko exclaimed inwardly, before stalking over to the lonely wagon and its two sleepy donkeys. Katsurou and Ren watched her go, smirks playing along their lips, but wisely keeping silent. Mariko found that Shiro and his dog were huddled next to the donkeys, the boy doodling on a scroll in the dark, and the dog sniffing curiously. She startled him upon asking what he was doing.

"Practicing a scroll formula that Mito-sama gave me," said the boy softly. "Well, technically, Danzo taught me."

"That's interesting," Mariko said, for the sake of a reply.

"It's supposed to summon stuff, but I haven't really decided what," Shiro explained. "Sarutobi told me to put in a bunch of pies so that I could pull them out and throw them."

"Throwing pies?" It seemed rather characteristic of the child, despite the quiet demeanor that he seemed to be playing on currently.

Shiro nodded, grinning mostly to himself. He stroked Kuro's pointy black ears, and the dog snuffled at his pockets. Mariko, deciding that he probably wanted to be alone, meandered back to the group. Katsurou had hoisted himself back onto the wagon, curling up as best he could among the burlap sacks and folded canvases. Ren, sitting quietly before the sizzling fire, was thumbing the hilt of his sword and contemplating something or the other. The dimmed light of the fire illuminated her brother-in-law's face, and she noticed for the first time that he had a mild spattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and onto his high-set cheekbones. It softened his appearance, melting his hard demeanor and setting the mold of a young boy's innocent face, blank but thoughtful.

Ren's eyes snapped up to meet hers, and the set of his jaw tightened.

"Your brother's not feeling well," he told her dully, before returning to his listless glare at the fire.

"Is he sick, or is it his wound?" asked Mariko, glancing over at Katsurou. The blue-haired man had turned so that his back faced them, face tucked into a scratchy flap of wool.

"I think it may be both of his wounds," Ren told her, unsheathing his sword just for the sake of having something to do. "He was clutching his lower abdomen, where I've been told his older wound is."

"I'll get someone to look at him." Mariko began to stride over to where Natsuki was, conversing softly with her cousin, but Ren stopped her.

"Let him be for now. We can check in the morning before we go."

"What if he's not all right?" she insisted. "I think someone should take a look."

"Have your Senju come over, then."

"Why Tobirama?"

"Just do it." Ren put away his sword with a forceful snap, the blade clicking into a secure position within its sheath. Mariko hesitantly obliged, redirecting her path to where Tobirama currently posted himself, standing alone by a tree, leaning back on it. He nodded to her, but otherwise didn't acknowledge her presence, even when she tugged on his sleeve.

"Katsurou's not feeling well," she informed him.

"Oh?" he murmured, not quite listening.

"Tobirama." Mariko boldly reached up and touched his cheek; he whipped around and she froze, withdrawing cautiously. He was distracted, but the coolness of her fingers brushing cheek reeled him back to attention.

"What?" he asked flatly, snatching her fingers and pushing them away. Mariko glanced over her shoulder awkwardly, unsure of what to do because he had not let go of her hand, despite rejecting her touch.

"Katsurou's not feeling well," she repeated slowly. "Ren says you should come over."

"Is that an order?" Tobirama's voice was so monotone and expressionless that she couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not. In fact, he could've been angry for all she knew. Nonetheless, his larger hand had encompassed her own, and Mariko found herself marveling at how well they seemed to fit together.

"Well…" Mariko, watching Tobirama run his thumb across her knuckles absently, didn't know how to answer.

"Relax, Shorty," he sighed, dropping her hand abruptly. "Of course I'll come over."

He straightened and readjusted his jacket, putting his left hand along the small of her back and guiding her back to their now-sputtering campfire. Inadvertently, Mariko realized she had tucked herself comfortably at his side, probably leaning too much into his arm to be comfortable. Even so, Tobirama didn't say a word, only slid his hand around her waist instead.

"Lord Prince," Tobirama said curtly, when his future brother-in-law turned around at the sound of their approach.

"Senju," replied Katsurou tiredly, subtly hiding his discomfort as he gracefully swung around to face them, legs dangling off the open end of the wagon. He eyed his sister, so casually tucked into the arm of a man not from their family, but did not make a point of it.

"How is your wound?" Tobirama asked briskly.

"Fine."

"I'm told that you are uncomfortable."

"And who told you this?" Katsurou forced a smirk to his lips, but the sweat beaded on his brow and the stiffness to his shoulders suggested differently from his words. While he feigned being perfectly healthy and lively, the slight shortness of breath and the occasional hand on his side told them otherwise.

"_You_," replied Tobirama, nodding to Katsurou's hand, which had unconsciously touched his old wound.

"I'll be fine," Katsurou answered snappishly. "We'll be out by tomorrow, and—"

"Have someone look at you. That's all I'll say," Tobirama cut in, turning on his heel and brushing past Mariko. She grabbed his sleeve, but he didn't stop. In fact, the one to cut him off turned out to be Ren, who smoothly glided into step with the Senju. Once out of earshot from Katsurou, Ren faced Tobirama.

"I think he should head back to the village," he said in a low voice. "Or at least to the Sand, where he can rest and recuperate."

At this, Tobirama raised a brow and folded his arms. Mariko, still dawdling behind him, listened carefully.

"He's obviously not well," continued Ren, "and he keeps babbling on and on about some ludicrous reason on why Sumi almost dying was his fault."

Ren held Tobirama's gaze for a long moment, the seconds stretching out as if they were sunken in a pool of molasses. Tobirama's eyes were steady, unwavering.

"And?"

"He's _not okay_, all right? That's all I can say. It's hard to explain."

Mariko, with a start, wondered if she wasn't the only one who had realized Katsurou's change. His grey eyes, the dark bags beneath them, the paleness that came with a sickly body and fatigue. His face had become a bit more gaunt, features sharper and deeper set, his mouth a hard line. But he never showed weakness, if he could help it. Prince Katsurou walked straight and proud, with his shoulders squared even when his wound pulsated at his side painfully.

"Give him some time, and then we'll see," replied Tobirama, unconvinced. Ren, for once at a loss, huffed in frustration and stomped away and ran a hand through his hair. Mariko, at the Senju's side, watched the redhead snap a large stick in half and throw the twigs into the dwindling fire.

"I agree with Ren," she said softly, to the tall white-haired man's back.

Tobirama glanced at her over his shoulder, and in the quieting night, the rustle of his sleeves was strangely loud beside the crackling of the fire. Mariko, awfully aware of the sudden glaring silence, scuffed her toe in the dry soil. Her boots were old, worn leather, the travel boots with the extra thick soles that could easily serve her well in all terrains. She'd already forgotten where she'd found them, but by now, it didn't matter where they came from. Perhaps, only where they would go was important.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ The delegation of Konoha was here today._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

Mariko peeked round the elaborate tapestry that hung from the high ceilings to the floor. It made for an excellent hiding spot, especially when she was of such small size. Recently, she had been carrying out these types of maneuvers and missions — following guests and Ryouichi like it was her business to do so. She wanted to find out more about this "Senju Tobirama", her future husband. As of now, he was still a mysterious name on paper, documented and stamped and made official. An influx of mainland delegates had come to Hurricane, and she was intent on gleaning information from them.

Interestingly, she liked to think that this was her way of becoming a ninja, even if it was just sneaking about the palace unnoticed.

Oftentimes, the conversations of the Leaf representatives proved to be rather insightful. Either that, or completely mundane.

"You know, I really see why Mito-sama loves this island," said one.

"Ah, that's right," replied the companion, "she was delighted when she heard we were going to the islands."

"But did you see Tobirama-sama?" laughed the first man, clicking on his shinobi's jacket. It was a forest green, a protective sort of vest with pockets and pouches in which they stored the smallest scrolls Mariko had ever laid eyes on. But the name had piqued her interest, and her attention was caught. "He was _angry_."

"I thought he was always angry."

"I don't think he ever stops frowning, does he?" laughed the first one, strapping a few scrolls to his back.

"He always seems grumpy," snorted the companion, though it was a good-natured comment. Mariko, so far, only had a rather odd picture of her fiancé — an ill-tempered man who always frowned. Not very pleasant, in her standards.

The first shinobi turned around, then, and Mariko quickly ducked behind the tapestry, her heart racing. The Leaf nin hardly glanced her way, but she still felt as if they would suddenly turn their eyes on her. The old wall-hanging was dusty and old, tickling her nose, but Mariko pinched her eyes shut and willed herself not to sneeze.

The shinobi disappeared down the hall.

After slipping out from behind the drapery, Mariko found that she was dreadfully hungry. Her stomach growled incessantly, and she inwardly hushed it. It wouldn't do to give away her "spy" missions because hunger happened to strike. She wore her faded ballet flats and a simple, paneled skirt without any sort of mesh or decoration that would swish loudly. Just to add to the feeling, Mariko had wound a simple, light green bandanna over her hair, wrapping it up so that she looked somewhat like one of the serving girls.

And then, because she felt a little bolder than usual, she crept up behind the shinobi, within hearing distance. In her hands, to complete her disguise, she held an old rag and a feather duster. To be honest, she wanted to carry a bucket – the servant girls were always singing and swinging to a rhythm with their wash buckets, especially out in the garden and cleaning the windows – but she feared she'd be too clumsy with it. (Also, this naïve little princess also discovered that buckets filled to the brim with water were _heavy_.)

The shinobi and his companion paid no attention to her as she padded by, bright blue hair completely covered. Only someone who recognized her face would be able to pick her out now.

And then, to ruin it all, fair old Lemma came storming down the hall. Mariko dodged toward the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the eastern hallway they were traversing, and pretended to clean it. A miracle; Lemma barely paid her any mind. Instead, she brushed past the shinobi, an angry expression clear in the hard lines of her face.

"Sir," she said, addressing the one shinobi with the peculiar green flak jacket as she rushed by, "Have you, by any chance, seen the Second Princess?"

At this, the two shinobi were quiet, and while the companion seemed like he wanted to say something, the first man was silent. Lemma rolled her eyes.

"The one engaged to your Senju," she snapped impatiently.

"Ah," said the first shinobi, a little bashful. "No, we haven't."

"She's the only girl here with blue hair and green eyes, are you _sure_ you haven't seen her?" insisted Lemma, slightly offended at the fact that these shinobi didn't even know what Mariko looked like. After all, she was the very reason they were here, wasn't she? "You can't possibly miss her."

"I believe I saw her further back down that hall," said the other man graciously. He had a kind, mild smile and was very polite. The first one just shrugged, and brusquely continued on his way. Lemma clicked her tongue in distaste and continued shuffling down the hall.

Mariko relaxed when the old maid slipped around the corner, waiting for a few seconds to make sure she did not suddenly return and grab her by the bandanna because she had known all along. When Lemma was truly gone, Mariko trailed after the two Konoha men into the main foyer, where Ryouichi was hosting tea for all foreign guests.

With a grace that easily surprised herself, Mariko traded her rags and duster for an empty tray, and she went around with her head ducked, pretending to collect used dishes. In fact, when a man from the Wave Country placed his finished glass of champagne on her tray, she smiled to herself and swept around lightly to the other guests.

Nobody noticed.

"The weather here is delightful," said a portly man from the Fire Country, not really associated with Konoha, but rather the mainland itself.

"It is fabulous," agreed a feminine-looking man, who wore a big hat and was supposed to be the Wave Country daimyo. "I'm sure anyone who visits can agree."

"If only you visited during our winters," Ryouichi laughed, gracefully lounging back in a heavily decorated chair. Hardly comfortable, but stylish. The rest of the seats were very cozy, very inviting, all except for the one seat Ryouichi had to sit in, simply for the sake of appearance. Mariko never liked that chair. But Ryouichi, being the somewhat stoic, witty character he was in public, did not mind. While he was truly gentle at heart, a soft being who couldn't bear to impose any sort of unkindness upon others, he was politically strong and cunning. If only subtly, he used verbal and nonverbal communication to ensure that no opportunities to unseat the head of the social hierarchy ever appeared. If they did, he stomped them out like bugs, the glint of his sophisticated glasses hiding his true expression.

But here, he appeared relaxed, the essence of a casual royal, even if he was actually analyzing each and every person in the room, scrutinizing every detail meticulously. Even if his conversation was light – they were talking about the weather, after all – his ability to read people was so fantastic that sometimes his own family members forced expressions of complete blankness onto their faces when they didn't know how to react.

"Ah, but Lord Prince," said a Kirigakure noble – it was the mustache man, Mariko realized, the one with the wispy facial hair and no eyebrows – as he sipped tea, "That is only for a little bit of the year. Even though it is cold, Hurricane hardly ever sees the types of blizzards one encounters in Lightning."

"That may be true," Ryouichi agreed. "I supposed I should be proud of that?"

The Kirigakure man laughed, but to Mariko's surprise, the Konoha delegation only chuckled tightly. They cast glances at the islanders, as if they were suspicious, especially towards those from the Mist. Shinobi relations, she supposed, were of a different realm altogether.

"It's a shame your Hokage didn't visit," continued the Kiri noble. To Mariko, it seemed like he just never shut up. "Or his brother."

"Hashirama-sama is incredibly busy," piped up the one man Mariko had been following. His milder counterpart, the second shinobi with the gentle smile, sighed. The first went on, "He certainly wishes to visit, but it _is_ a shame that he cannot."

"There, there," snorted the Kiri man, "no need to be defensive."

"Gentlemen." Ryouichi's voice cut in so sharply that the two regular shinobi turned to stare at him incredulously, because simply calling out made every single noble in the room cringe, if only slightly. The shinobi, a total of seven including the two Mariko had followed, seemed to be rather lost on the ways of the court.

Ryouichi turned to the shinobi that had spoken.

"I'm sure he is a busy man," the Crown Prince assured him, "as am I. Running a nation is not as easy as it seems." The stress on _nation_ made the shinobi look uncomfortable, while the portly Fire Daimyo's representative chuckled pretentiously. Ryouichi only gave the shinobi a lengthy stare, ignoring the stout man beside him. "We would be delighted to have the Hokage's presence here at court, for our government wishes to have healthy negotiations with Konohagakure."

With that, he indirectly turned the conversation to Mariko, who jerked slightly as she pretended to follow along the other maids. To her surprise, the younger servant girls smiled at her demurely, eyebrows quirked, and quietly passed whispers of what she should do next. One of them, the girl who was often her handmaid during long, formal dinner nights, ushered her over to the desserts table and silently showed her the order of little sweet cakes that were being served, and how to stack four of them to a plate neatly.

Meanwhile, the conversation continued, and Mariko tried to catch every bit.

"Speaking of healthy negotiations," said the generously proportioned Fire diplomat, "I find it a shame that the Senju brother did not join our deputation."

Mariko began to wonder whose side this man was on.

Ryouichi pasted the most charming smile on his face as he awaited Konoha's answer. Their head ambassador, a tall, cloaked man, never really spoke unless needed. He seemed quite content to let the six other members of his group dawdle about and bumble their way disastrously through court conversation.

The mild shinobi, the gentleman whose companion did not even know what Mariko looked like, spoke up.

"Tobirama-sama is busy as well," he said simply. "And if he is not busy, he, too, is a human, and is currently working out the negotiations of this political marriage."

Mariko liked this shinobi, a quiet, blonde with dark eyes and a light voice. He was very correct and very gracious, and he'd been the only other one besides their head ambassador that knew it was formally correct to drop to one knee upon Ryouichi's entrance. The rest of the group had confusedly followed suit, staring wide-eyed at the boy hardly older than themselves who was supposed to be the Crown Prince of Hurricane.

The look on Ryouichi's face was satisfied with this answer. Had it been someone closer to the family, he would have told them, "Well said. I would agree." But instead, he nodded his affirmation at this young man, who seemed to be delighted to receive the prince's approval.

However, the one unruly man whose beard was too scruffy and seemed to be the most talkative so far would not let his companion end with just that.

"Like I said," he growled, "Tobirama-sama is Hashirama-sama's brother, and therefore—"

"I'm _sure_ he is," Ryouichi cut in. The look on his face was deadly calm, the air of nonchalance so finely exuded that one might choke from the tight control it wrapped around the listeners. If they thought Ryouichi was being critical at the moment, then they hadn't seen him at his best. For now, he simply thought the notion, _I'll make them think I'm impatient with this man_, and the entire room swallowed nervously.

"Look'ere, fella," exclaimed the shinobi, riled, "if you're disrespecting Tobirama-sama, then I'll—"

Mariko's friend, the one young maid, shoved a stack of trays clattering onto the floor, effectively interrupting the Konoha man. Mariko, still serving desserts, glanced over at Ryouichi. His lips almost inconspicuously tugged a smile.

"Well," the round Fire Country lord said suddenly, "I still think your Tobirama—" he rolled the name off his tongue like it was some sort of intriguing hard candy, "—should have come with us."

"He's busy," snapped the bearded man, though he was losing grounds in terms of a stable argument.

"As we all are," a random Hurricane lord murmured. A ripple of laughter crossed through the native islanders, making a majority of the mainland guests rather uncomfortable. Mariko noticed that the head of the Leaf nin, the tall man in the dark cloak, chuckled to himself and sipped tea calmly while his men exchanged wary glances. When he turned and saw her staring, he gave her a peculiar little smile that she didn't quite like; Mariko ducked away, collecting a glass from the disgruntled man with the ugly beard and dodging back to the rest of the maids. She supposed he would never really realize who she was.

As long as they didn't see her face clearly – with her scarf wrapped somewhat elaborately around her head and shoulders – and no one recognized her by her characteristic green eyes, Mariko supposed she would be fine. She gave the islanders a wide berth, cautious of anyone who was slightly more familiar with her than the others. She wanted to hear the more, not just this teasing banter, and if she maintained a good distance from Ryouichi, he would not find out either.

Of course, Mariko, being a princess, royally screwed up.

She ran straight into – who would have guessed – Lord Tetsuya from Garnet. She dropped her tray, with its few glasses, and they shattered on the floor, turning all attention their way. Mariko ducked, tugging her headscarf closer, and hastily began picking up shards of glass. If only she knew that that action gave her away completely. A properly trained maid would have known to use the tray to gather in the glass pieces as best she could, before going for a broom and dustpan to properly gather all the dangerous chips and shards that may have spread about.

"My apologies," rushed Lord Tetsuya, saving her by grabbing a broom from the nearest waiter, "let me help you with that."

"My Lord, you are kind," Mariko managed to return in practically a squeak. "I would rather you stay back than dirty your hands and possibly cut yourself on the glass."

Lord Tetsuya laughed, then.

"It's hardly a problem at all," he replied, stooping to clean. In fact, it seemed that Mariko was rather useless, and instead, the Lord Tetsuya deftly scooped up the broken glass and passed it on to yet another maid who skillfully disappeared to the kitchen to dispose of it all.

Someone grabbed Mariko's arm.

"Excuse me, Lord Tetsuya, but I need a word with this one," came the strained greeting, if it could be called that. Several in the room turned to see what had happened.

"Of course, Your Royal Highness," the soon-to-be leader of Garnet answered, immediately dropping to one knee and bowing his head. To Mariko's horror, he happened to glance up at an angle where he could see her face, and she turned quickly so that he wouldn't glimpse her identity.

Putting her right in Ryouichi's path.

He smoothly operated in a fashion that made it seem like he wanted a word with the maid, perhaps a need for an important dish made especially for his foreign guests, and this was the messenger girl to fly to the kitchens for the order. The fact that she ducked her head and curtsied politely created a good impression of Hurricane's court for the foreigners; of the utmost respect and good manners.

And then they were out of the tearoom and tearing down the hall until they came to a smaller foyer, where Ryouichi whipped around and yanked the scarf from his younger sister's head.

"_What_ are you doing?!" The pent up energy and the well-hidden frustration for the stubborn Konoha shinobi came out all at once, and Mariko took a step back, breath caught in her throat.

"Listening?"

"_Listening_?"

"Yes."

Ryouichi spun on his heel and began pacing back and forth, nearly knocking down some poor vase doomed to a life of decorative standing on a pedestal.

"Mariko." Ryouichi stared at the vase for a few seconds, collecting himself. While he was naturally a gentle person, he, like everyone else, could build up a temper if given enough time. And at the moment, he was as ready to burst as anyone. People who wondered how he, Katsurou, and Sumiko could be related when the latter two were so fiery and the Crown Prince was so serene — well, they had their answer right here. Simply put, anger was something that did not come to Ryouichi easily, but when it did appear, it was as furious as any Prince or Princess in the palace.

"Sorry, Ryo," Mariko murmured, wringing the scarf in her hands. She focused on her toes, the old worn cotton that used to be a pretty little girl's pink, but had long since faded to a dirty gray. Her skirts were plain, as plain as she could get them, and the apron she'd borrowed was ruffled and smudged. Everything about her was of the perfect disguise — that is, until she saw her long, blue tresses falling across her line of sight. "I won't do it again," she said, and then added, "I was just curious."

He softened, because Ryouichi could never stay angry long. The anger itself seemed relieved to go, slipping away from his features and letting his stance droop wearily in respite.

"You may come back," he said tiredly, "in your regular appearance."

"Thank you, Ryo." Mariko never fought him, because there was simply no point to it. All she had to do was apologize or reasonably state her intentions, and she would be fine. Ryouichi was a very open-minded character, and his patience was overwhelming. And whenever he seemed so tired, so stressed, she couldn't help but feel she was causing more trouble. So, in the end, Mariko would guiltily stop her activities, even if it meant giving up her original goals. It was as if she was never able to finish any plan she created, even when they involved the smallest of things.

When Lemma found her, the old maid was glaring daggers at all who passed. Within a few minutes, she'd stuffed Mariko into one of the traditional princess's dresses that the little blunette was so used to wearing, and then squished her toes with the stiff, short heels that Mariko heavily disliked. She would have traded countless valuables for comfortable shoes.

Nonetheless, Mariko clicked back to the tearoom with a practiced ease, no longer the tilting, tippy girl who had no idea how to walk straight. As soon as she entered, all the islanders rose; they pointedly stared down the Konoha delegation until they picked up the cue and stumbled to their feet.

"Lady Princess," called one of the older men from Hurricane. He was a familiar lord, one who often stopped by to share his wonderful knowledge of horsemanship and of historic writings. A family friend, Mariko would say. "It is a pleasure to see you."

Mariko suddenly remembered that her face was covered in her white pastels, and that if she simply blinked owlishly at the group, she would look like a glaring idiot.

So she curtsied and thanked him for his kind greeting. The lord bowed back, as did several others, and any ladies in the room swept low curtsies for their beloved Second Princess.

The Konoha delegation stared at her as if she had two heads, and Mariko did not appreciate it. She almost stalked over to Ryouichi, who simply raised his eyebrows at her until she slowed her pace and smiled modestly.

"Princess Mariko, correct?"

It was the leader of the delegation, the cool-headed man with graying hair and a wan smile, looking stark but elegant in his long trench coat. He gracefully knelt before her and very elegantly kissed her hand.

"Yes," she replied, unsure of what to say. Mariko was horribly aware of Ryouichi's presence behind her, watching her every reaction. It was times like these that made her think that she did not know her brother, just the same as she felt whenever she watched him deal with the politics of the high-class world. To break the tension winding up in her heart, Mariko tried to smile. For good measure, she added, "I suppose I can't be anyone else with this hair, can I?"

The man laughed. He had a throaty voice, deep but rather reassuring. It was an odd feeling, to be so rough yet so solid. Mariko picked up on his intentions quite quickly, even though he didn't seem to show them. He was friendly, and while his team was a tiring bunch, he was genuinely interested in carrying out business with Hurricane.

Behind her, Mariko felt more than one person shift. The blue-haired girl found it interesting that she could feel Ryouichi's breathing, calm and collected, while a little ways away, a few of the suitors from her one party bristled.

"Lady Princess, if I may," said the man, returning to a standing position, "you are far more charming than I presumed."

"That," Mariko said, unsure of whether she was delighted or offended, "is the most endearing thing I've heard all day."

Ryouichi made a face, and Mariko knew that she probably had not been the best communicator in the world at the time. _That was awkward_, she hissed silently. Why couldn't she say something else? Why couldn't she just act _natural_?

Oh wait. She wasn't supposed to.

But the bearded man and a few others were staring at her, staring at her white face and, she realized, the ochre-yellow dusting Ryouichi's temples, and just the general islander appearance overall. On a whim, she lashed out at them.

"A beautiful day, hmm?" Mariko gestured to the window. "It's too bad no one important had the chance to see it."

She turned to the head of the delegation.

"Except maybe your captain and that fine fellow there," she sniffed, spinning around in a manner so similar to Sumiko — Sumiko's sass, to be precise — that Ryouichi fought a cringe. Lemma frowned, and the few former suitors at the back of the room sniggered. Lord Tetsuya looked thoroughly amused, setting his tea down for a moment so that he could refrain from snorting it accidentally.

"You brat," hissed the bearded man beneath his breath.

"Calm down," said his blond companion softly.

"But she—"

The light-haired one clapped a hand on the other's shoulder, shushing him promptly. The scruffy one growled in frustration and looked over to where Ryouichi was observing them. The Crown Prince's face was stony, not quite in anger but not quite stilled, either.

"My apologies," sighed the head of the group, walking over to his men. His long coat brushed his knees, and he moved briskly and efficiently. The ways of a skilled shinobi. "_We_ do not intend any form of disrespect to Your Highness."

With this, he addressed Mariko, to her surprise. Truthfully, she wanted to smile gratefully at him, but under her formal paints, it would hardly make a difference. Instead, she nodded briefly, acknowledging him. Mariko never found herself arrogant; only playing her position. But the Konoha men seemed to think otherwise. Even though their leader forced a mumbled word of apology out of them, they didn't seem sincere. Only the straw-haired fellow and their aloof leader were truly understanding of the circumstances.

The rest of the neat little luncheon passed without incident. Lord Tetsuya stuck close to Mariko, despite knowing that she no longer had "suitors". In fact, all the younger men befriended her, and once in a while, she even found their ludicrous jokes funny. At her laughter, they grinned and brightened, unreasonably happy simply because their princess was. It warmed Mariko's heart to know that people didn't just pay attention to the Crown Prince, but her as well.

She was the last one to go, after all.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma,_

_ I'm curious to know – are we in any way related to Lady Mito? Katsurou's coming back to visit because the Hot Springs delegation is coming to make negotiations. Sumi is angry, but she's been like that lately. She doesn't want to get married. But in any case, back to the point, Lady Mito and some family are coming to visit us. I read, way back when, in some history book that so-and-so was married to so-and-so Uzumaki. A crown prince, I believe. So, are we related to our allies from Uzu?_

**_.x.X.x._**

She was thirteen and curious. The woman with the hair that shone like flames passed by, heading towards the corridor, and Mariko could not help but stare. She had known Lady Mito since she was a child, but had never been very close to her. The Uzumaki had befriended Ryouichi, who was about the same age, and anybody could tell that they were the best of friends. He was gentle while she was fiery, but he never failed to keep up a rally of witty banters that they would end up snorting at later.

In any case, the troop of redheads from Uzu was fascinating. Mariko sometimes forgot that her own hair was a source of wonder and marvel; instead, she found the vibrant sunset reds of the Uzumaki to be astounding. They were never quite the same, the Uzumaki. Lady Mito had hair like rubies, stunning like budding roses. Her bodyguards, two women – the female warriors were known to be just as fierce as the men from Whirlpool – had varying shades of red strung through their intricate braids. One had a copper-chestnut hue, while the other bordered on burgundy. All of them were beautiful, though they paled in comparison to the Lady.

"You may come outside, dear."

Mito had stopped halfway down the hall, turning to look back at the empty doorway to the foyer.

"I know you're there, Mariko-hime."

Bashfully, the girl peeked out from behind the doorway, slipping out from behind a tapestry she wouldn't be able to hide in soon. She quickly curtsied, nervous because of the two – no, three – intimidating women before her.

"Walk with us, hime," said the one bodyguard. She was amazingly tall, the one with the burgundy hair. She had countless bags and scrolls strapped to her person, a lengthy sword sheathed at her side. The other, who was slightly shorter than Lady Mito, had one long braid falling down her back past her waist. She didn't appear to carry weapons, only two large scrolls stacked on her back. Mariko assumed that she probably had countless knives hidden in the most mysterious places.

"Um," was all Mariko could manage lamely. The women weren't rude, only natural, acting as if they were familiar. She didn't dislike it – in fact, they gave her a little sense of confidence. Perhaps it was because they were all women, and she simply felt more comfortable that way. "Okay."

Mariko mentally slapped herself for sounding so lost and childish, but could only stride up to them and smile sweetly.

"You really _do_ look more like Ryouichi, you know that?" The Lady Mito smiled, resting a hand on Mariko's shoulder. To the blunette's surprise, the lady's hand was not smooth and manicured. Her fingers were stained with ink and her slender hands were just slightly calloused. Her touch was gentle but firm.

"Do I really?" Finding her voice, Mariko straightened and attempted the conversation she'd really intended to have.

"You do. Your two other siblings resemble each other in both looks and personality, am I right?"

Mariko laughed; she was very right.

"Do you know why we're here, hime?" asked the tall one. It was a friendly question, and Mariko shook her head. Surrounded by these strong, confident women, she felt safe, tucked into a secure space. The bodyguard laughed and said, "We are here to make sure the Hot Springs are not after your hot springs."

It was the worst joke she'd ever heard, corny to the point of not laughing, but Mariko laughed anyway. Maybe it was because of her appearance – Mariko tended to appear younger than she really was – but Mariko felt like she was small, so small, with these women as her many older sisters. They made her feel reassured in a way that Sumiko often did.

"I would think that their hot springs are far better than ours, considering their name," quipped Mariko lightly, playing along with the poorly made joke. She liked it though.

"At least it's winter," Mito commented. "They won't have a chance to take a dip any time soon."

"Well, technically," said the shorter bodyguard, a girl just a few years older than Mariko with cute freckles sprinkled across her nose, "they could take a swim if they wanted to. They'd freeze, and then we could send them to Kiri as a declaration of war."

"How is that a declaration of war to Kiri?" snorted Mito, making a face. Mariko like the Lady very much, and was for once grateful that she didn't have her pastels on today, so that they could truly see her smile.

"I don't know," said the shorter woman. Her braid swished back and forth; it was so long, Mariko wondered if it was a disaster to wash. "Aggressive intentions? We'd figure it out, eventually."

"We could just send _you_ to Kiri, and that would be war threat enough," Mito told her guard, rolling her eyes.

"Lady Mito, I think sending you to Konoha was dangerous. And you want to send me?"

"How was sending _me_ dangerous?"

"You're quite a storm, my Lady," chuckled the tall one.

"I'm an Uzumaki," exclaimed Mito, exasperated. "You can't get much stormier."

The subject of Konoha was foreign to Mariko at the time, but she was interested anyway. This light teasing of the Lady went on until they reached the main foyer, where Sumiko was found to be bickering with a very nonchalant Ryouichi. Not quite wanting to be involved in that argument so soon, Mariko popped her question.

"Lady Mito," she addressed, waiting for the redhead to turn to her. "Are we, in any way, related?"

At this, the woman from whirlpool brightened, a beautiful smile gracing her already lovely face. To herself, Mariko thought that there could not be anyone prettier, and that whoever was lucky enough to meet Mito had had the honor of beholding a goddess.

"Actually, Mariko-hime, I think we are. Distantly, that is."

"Really?"

"Yes. Long ago, there was a woman from Uzu who traveled to Hurricane." Mito paused. "My apologies if this is at all incorrect, this is what I remember." She smiled to herself. "Now, this woman was not fond of her father, who was the clan head. She was a little like me, I think. This Uzumaki daughter stowed away to Hurricane, where she found herself immersed in all of your glorious culture." Mito stopped to glance at Mariko. "Really, your land practically _glows_."

"There's a cavern to the north that glows at night when fireflies enter the caves of jewels, isn't there?" said the tall one. Mariko nodded.

"In any case, this woman, a young kunoichi who always helped the local citizens, found herself up against an underground group set out to overthrow the government and take over in a brutal dictatorship. Their leader was a fearsome man, who, incidentally, was part of the high court. Basically, he played the role of the man would betray the king and take over his role."

Mariko found this familiar. She recalled reading about an internal dispute, involving such a plot, but the textbooks glanced over it briefly, primarily focusing on the king's attributes and skimming past the details on this traitorous member of the council.

"And so, the Uzumaki girl would battle various members of the underground organization until she had a few other team members on her side," continued Mito. The Lady was a lovely storyteller, her voice compelling and her facial expressions enhancing each word she spoke. "Eventually, she ran into Hurricane's most well-known vigilante group. The vigilante group was led by a hooded man who never showed his face." Mito smiled. "I like this part; it's interesting. Anyway, they started working together, pledging to stop the evil councilman and wipe out all traces of his organization. The king at the time was a just king, very fair and very cooperative with his people. He was a loved man. And so, this vigilante group, as well as our young kunoichi's followers, traveled across all towns and all provinces to take out branches of the organization."

"I love cheesy love stories," the shorter Uzumaki broke in, smirking.

"Don't ruin it," said the tall guard mildly.

"Shush, you two," snapped Mito, before suppressing a very feminine giggle and proceeding with the story. "Well, the part that I like _is_ the cheesy love story — of course, the two fall in love. This is rather odd, because he's never shown his face. But when he does, he happens to save the girl when she's in trouble. His hood falls back, and lo and behold: he's got blue hair and green eyes."

Mariko's eyes widened, and she bit her lower lip in anticipation. They had settled in a few little sofas near where King Hiroto often hosted tea. It was late afternoon, too early for dinner, but not late enough to start preparing for the feast. As a result, it was a rather fine time for storytelling.

"He was Hurricane's Crown Prince, pronounced officially missing from the Royal Court for three months now."

"Noble," interjected the shorter guard. "I would like a willful man like that."

"Are you sure?" drawled the tall guard. She and the short woman — Anya and Laren, respectively — were constantly polar opposites. One was calm and the other was fiery. Lady Mito, meanwhile, seemed like she was in the middle.

"What are you trying to say?" snapped Laren.

"You two," said Mito exasperatedly. "Let me tell my story."

It was as if the three were best friends, and Mariko smiled at the sight.

"All right, well the Crown Prince fell in love with our lovely Uzushiogakure kunoichi. How fortunate for both of them that he'd stopped working solely within the grounds of Esmeralda, and instead ventured to the rest of his homeland to help all his people. In any case, this Crown Prince was known for his valiant efforts in many things, but the rest of those aren't that clear to me. I should brush up on history, shouldn't I?" Mito grinned, and ignored the playful bat that Laren teasingly made at the tags hanging from her tied hair. "The end results were, of course, that the evil man was taken down, and that the Crown Prince's return was heartily celebrated. The fact that he was the leader of the most famous vigilante group came as a welcomed surprise, and the beautiful woman he brought became loved. And thus, you have an Aokami that married an Uzumaki.

"Their child, however, had blue hair and green eyes as well. And then it was kind of sad, because the mother died years and years later, and because of the belief in evil spirits at the time, they believed it was the curse of a malicious wolf spirit." Mito turned to Mariko. "A little bit of history and culture, if you will."

"The thing about her face, too," added Anya.

"Oh yes," Mito said, nodding. "The child was born with what we call a port-wine stain birthmark, a capillary vascular malformation—"

"Mito-sama, in terms we can understand, please," deadpanned Laren, rolling her eyes. "Not all of us are knowledgeable in the medical region."

"Basically, a red birthmark commonly found the face," explained the Lady, elbowing Laren good-naturedly. "They thought, again, that it was an evil spirit's curse because the father had done something wrong. So, our pretty love story does have some flaws. But in the end, you probably have Uzumaki in you somewhere…very, very faintly."

"Thank you for sharing with me," Mariko said, pleased with the story. "Though I think I need to study history now, don't I?"

Mito smiled down at the blunette.

"I'm sure you'll remember this one in particular, then, won't you?"

"I will." Mariko found being a teeny bit of Uzumaki very thrilling. She wished for the strength and confidence that seemed to come naturally to these women. They stood straight and tall and were sincere no matter the circumstances. Even if she was hardly one percent Uzumaki, only a single drop of blood connecting her to Whirlpool, at least she could feel it symbolically. She wanted to be strong, too.

"_Mariko_," came the frustrated cry of a man who'd spent time on the mainland and now had the most awkward, crisp half-Hurricane half-Frost accent. "Where have you _been_?"

It was Katsurou.

Mariko leapt to her feet, so happy to see her brother after such a long time of separation, and embraced him. He was cold and smelled of wind, chilled from the winter outside, but achingly familiar. She'd missed him.

"I'm home," he said softly, the way he'd done every day upon returning to the palace.

"Welcome back, Katsurou."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ Thirteen years later, the mother died of an unknown cause, presumably an unexpected heart attack. The kingdom wept, as did the royal family._

Child. Look closely with my eyes.

_The man looked, and he saw what he saw. He understood why the Wolf had been smiling his terrible, fanged smile in his final moments — why, as he grasped both the queen and the child in his claws, he did not fear death._

_ For it seemed that he never died, only reincarnated himself._

_ Seen only with the Emerald Eagle's eyes, claw marks across the queen's body, invisible to the regular eye. The Wolf had stolen her, gradually, bit by bit. And the king suspecting nothing._

Child, do not be sorrowful.

_"I made another mistake," the man wept._

All things have remedies, until death takes you away.

_"Will you take my wife away?"_

If you so wish it.

_And, for the last time, the Emerald Eagle spoke to him. He saw, with his green, emerald eyes that were now his own, a black eagle lifting into the sky. With a shudder, the mighty bird's ebony wings were shed, and underneath, he had a brilliant blue coat of feathers, shining sapphire. He would have been complete, had his eyes retained their emerald hue, but instead, he had the boy's eyes, brown and quiet. _

I shall leave, child, for you have lost yourself to the Wolf's evils. From now on, beware of his malice and his greed. He shall never best you again.

_The Emerald Eagle turned into a man, one that uncannily resembled the king, and offered his hand. _

_ From the casket, a woman rose; the queen. She took the eagle's human hand and they ascended into the sky, leaving the man and his daughter watching._

_ "Momma's gone, isn't she? I saw her go."_

_ The man looked down at his daughter sadly, watching her deep, green eyes carefully._

_ "Yes, she is."_

_ The moon that night was full, and the man felt its light pounding on him, weighing him down. He sat beside his daughter, watching the child learn to play an instrument out on the balcony so the sound could ring. It was a thought that produced a melancholy twinge in his heart — to know that the Emerald Eagle had restored his eyesight with these emerald eyes, and it was because of that he could see his daughter play her violin._

_ He looked into the sky._

May the stars crown you with emeralds,

and the sea wash upon a herd of sapphire horses.

_The man touched one of his eyes absently, wondering if, perhaps, it was made of true emerald. But it was only his imagination; there was not a single shred of real sight, but only what he wished to be true._

May the river and its stars guide you to the heart of your destination.

Follow the path, encrusted with jewels,

A horseshoe of impossible light;

your sight is your creation.

_"Emerald Eagle, give me luck. And as when I depart, may the stars return these emeralds to their rightful owner."_

The midst of a typhoon, the eye of a storm,

Let the river horses take you to all but the world,

The unreached mountain watches,

As your emerald heart unfurls.

_"Protect my daughters and sons, and their children too. I owe my sight to you, Emerald Eagle."_

_ An arctic gust blew over the man, hailing the call of an impending ice storm. The man recalled his daughter inside, taking one last glance at what he hoped was reality._

* * *

_ The child looked at her own face in the mirror. She hated her face, she hated it so, so much. She wished she could tear off her skin like a molded mask and shape a new one. She had long, blue lashes and long, blue hair. She hated it all. Most of all, she hated the ugly red mark that people called the Wolf's Curse — though her father always told her otherwise — and let her terrible sapphire hair fall across her face to obscure the repulsive, blotchy red. _

_ In her arms, she clutched a doll, her precious doll. She would never let go of this doll, even when she grew older. This doll was her guardian, her family, her trust. She would never let it go. This doll was beautiful; she wished to be just like this doll. Unfortunately, she looked nothing like it, except maybe the shape of her eyes and her soft lips and nose. But what she wished for most, she could not have. She could only hold her doll and fall asleep with it tucked to her chest, longing for an impossible appearance._

_ The doll laid alone on the bed in the daytime, an eternal smile stitched onto its face, accompanying dark button eyes._

_ Its hair was red._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

"Welcome to Ishi, land of the turtles." Shiro was hopelessly bored, as was Mariko. She supposed she should've been attentive, but the current heat and endless stretches of sand were too much for her.

"Welcome to Ishi, land of the bubble mermaids," she suggested. They were simply coming up with nonsensical names for their destination, though it quickly grew boring.

"Welcome to Ishi, land of the fish." Shiro petted his dog. "Landlocked fish."

"Welcome to Ishi, land of the snorting chefs."

"Welcome to Ishi, land of the flying lamps."

"Land of the freezing grasshoppers."

"Land of the terrorist cats."

"Land of the dancing priests."

"Land of the angry locusts."

"That actually sounds intimidating," Mariko said, though Shiro only offered a wan smile. They were bored out of their minds, and Tobirama's refusal to talk to them didn't help whatsoever.

Katsurou slept most of the time, practically knocked out by the overbearing heat. Ren, whose energy seemed to be drawn from a bottomless vat of adrenaline, was drained. The redhead slunk along sluggishly, too tired to even fiddle with his sword. It was heavy, after all. Somehow, Tobirama didn't suffer at all from the heat, underneath his weighty armor and fur collar. He simply cast Mariko an annoyed glance when she reached over the edge of the wagon and tugged his sleeve, asking for water.

"It's not for me, it's for Katsurou," she told him.

"Sure," he replied flatly, tone sarcastic, though he still produced a cup of water for her. She was horribly aware of his eyes glued to her back when she tapped on Katsurou's shoulder to wake him up. She gently tilted her brother's chin up, helping him to take a sip of water. Every day, his wound healed up, especially with the help of Natsuki and the other medic, but he was strangely fatigued, more so every day.

"Shiro, help me up, will you?" Katsurou motioned to the boy who scrambled over and hooked one of the prince's arms around his shoulders. The Inuzuka child was surprisingly strong for his age. Though he wasn't quite as big as Danzo or Hiruzen, he could pull his own weight well.

"Lord Prince," said Shiro, "would you like something to eat?"

Mariko smiled. He was exceptionally smart, this boy. Polite and formal when he needed to be, but very capable of playing the jokester.

"I'm fine, thank you. I probably won't be able to keep it down." Katsurou grimaced and looked to the horizon. "We're…how far, now?"

"Two hours," Tobirama informed him, listening in. The Senju was still refused when it came to medical care, even though the two Hyuuga were sufficient. Both of them — Tobirama and Katsurou — seemed to be edgy with one another, and if Katsurou didn't cooperate, neither did Tobirama.

"I don't think I like the desert," said the prince flatly.

"Me neither," murmured his sister, taking a small swig out of the paper cup.

"That's mine," said Katsurou.

"Tobirama." Mariko twisted around in her seat and held out the cup. With a rather pained look, Tobirama clicked his tongue and promptly filled the cup with water. And then, for good measure, he flicked some extra into her face. Mariko scowled before turning back to Katsurou. "Here's some more."

"Thanks," sighed Katsurou, leaning back on a burlap sack of rice.

"Lord Prince," Shiro piped up again, "I could get you a feast of orange juice. It shouldn't upset your stomach that badly."

"Thank you, Shiro, but I think water and crackers will be fine for now."

"We're running out of crackers," Ren called over sardonically.

"Are we, now?"

"Of course we are, whale," Ren drawled, ambling a little closer. Katsurou closed his eyes, chuckling at his brother-in-law.

"Who's the whale, bath boy?"

"I'm sure I just said it was you," snapped Ren, rather put off at being called _bath boy, _a jab at his Hot Springs origins. "And can't you do any better than that?"

"Only if you give me crackers, hmm?" Katsurou weakly motioned towards another supplies bag, and Shiro quickly dug up a small loaf of bread. Not quite crackers, but something Mariko hoped Katsurou could stomach down all the same.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Everything is falling._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The moment she awoke, she was lost. It was one of those moments where, upon waking, the glaring sunlight through the window and the disoriented feeling of being somewhere unfamiliar covered her in a hazy fog. It was a warm day, and the sunlight fell through the curtains in such a manner that she could only recall days from the past. Along with this feeling, she pulled up an intense feeling of pain in her shoulder blade. The left side of her body ached, and she half expected Aunt Tari to come into the room and give her pain medication.

Instead, someone knocked on the door.

As the glaring light was dimmed by the curtains she hastily pulled over the window, Mariko realized that the room was not as spacious as she had imagined, and that the walls were, instead of cream, a brownish red. The curtain were not finely embroidered baby blue silk, but instead, plain burgundy to go with the earthy wallpaper.

Whoever was at the door was impatient, and had long since left by the time she got there. Incredibly impatient, to not have waited five extra seconds.

Nonetheless, Mariko peeked out of the room, and then, when curiosity spurred her forward, she began padding groggily out the door. Her left shoulder was still sore, as if she had fallen off the waterfall's cliff yet again. Perhaps she'd dreamed it in a dream last night, and her body remembered it vividly.

Whatever the case, Mariko, with hand on the wall, padded down towards where the kitchen was. That is, only if she was going the right way. Was she? She'd already forgotten. It wasn't a problem; she got lost in the Senju compound often. She knew that if she was near the piano room, then the kitchen was probably the other way. Hopefully, she'd hit the kitchen instead of the other end of the hallway.

A hand snaked around her waist and pulled her into the piano room. She opened her mouth, but his second hand clamped around her face so that she couldn't utter a word. He shushed her, murmuring something about Mito coming to lecture him again, as she had the night before.

"Let go," she hissed when he released the hold on her mouth. Her back was lined along the curve of his chest, and she was terribly conscious of the lean, muscled arm around her body. He was warm, and smelled like soap, his hair slightly damp from a very recent shower. He was clad in a terribly thin shirt, an old white tee that had the sleeves ripped off neatly for summer wear. She could feel the hardness of his toned chest and abdomen right through it, and her if her mind controlled her vocal chords, she would've been screaming at him.

He didn't let go, but rather, spun her around in his arms and studied her, too closely for comfort. A moment of hesitation, where he seemed to be struggling internally, and couldn't decide what to do next. She tried pushing him away, but he had a firm grasp on her shoulders, and was now staring at the blue sash that ran around her morning robe.

"You look like you just got out of bed," he stated.

"I did," she grumbled.

"Are you always this grumpy in the morning?"

"Answer that yourself."

"I think Shorty needs some coffee."

"I don't drink coffee, and don't call me that."

"Fine, Shorty, I'll get you some orange juice. Would you like a kid's size?"

He said this so directly, into her face, that she couldn't really say anything. Mariko wanted to spit a fancifully smart retort at him, but couldn't quite think of one. Instead, she pursed her lips into a frustrated pout, and didn't realize the effect it had on him. At the same time her eyes dropped from his eyes to his nose to his lips, they were already on hers, and she went rigid with conflicting desire and shock.

Her robe slipped off, leaving only a thin, white sleeveless nightshirt, and when he held her close, his hand brushed the old scar. He never spoke of it, but it seemed as if he was curious. After all, as his fingers smoothed over her eagle-shaped scar, he seemed intent on exploring every inch of her.

There was no Toka to walk in on them, this time, because her back was to a closed door, and Mito had long since passed. She had a feeling that Tobirama's skill in the sensory apartment was well aware of who was around and who was not, and if he was kissing her, then he was sure that no one would bust down the door and rip him to pieces.

"Tob—"

He silenced her, despite wanting badly to hear her say his name in a backwards sort of longing.

She was a bit disappointed that Hiruzen would ruin their moment; just a little bit. But then again, she supposed that Tobirama was even more so.

Nonetheless, the pain in her birdlike scar ceased, and she ran out after them into the blinding daylight.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ When you hit the ground, it's gone._

* * *

In celebration of my 100th Microsoft Word page!...of my second Word document.

The first document was, oh, **198 pages**. Hehe.

Someone told me if you double that, that's how many novel pages you have, approximately. (-ish)

So, 298 times 2? Wow... wow.

The lolz.

...MARIKO'S ASK PAGE NEEDS LOVE

SUMMER IS COMING

I'LL DRAW

:)


	17. Crown

What?! CavAlato updated?! Impossible...

Just kidding. Sorry guys, summer, for some reason, gives me LESS TIME to write than during the year! Strange...

I will most likely be on **HIATUS **for a while.

So I shall post my status so you'll all just skip over and read the bold.

**CURRENT STATUS: ****ON HIATUS**

Sorry guys.

But here's a chapter anyway!

(also, any Avatar: the Last Airbender fans out there? Still on my ATLA rush. You never know, Maiko and Urzai stuff might pop up here...)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto, seeing as Tobirama is hardly getting any panel time, but the mass amounts of OCs (if you would call them that) seem to be mine...no, they ARE mine. Mineeee nomnomnom.

* * *

**Chapter 17: ****Crown**

* * *

_**.x.X.x.**_

* * *

_Slipping down the hallways in silence._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The presence of many guests residing in the Emerald Palace — an awe-inspiring castle of glass seemingly from a fairy tale — was reason to explore the grounds late at night.

At least, reason enough for a thirteen-year-old who had the habit of nosily trailing their esteemed guests. It was past her supposed "bedtime", but then again, who was it that actually enforced the rule that she had to be tucked in by 10:30 at night? Mariko had secretly shaken off this curfew more than once, often taking to her windows for brief escape to the pastures. Despite her adamant dislike of heights — she refused to call it a fear, because she was fine by the window as long as it didn't morph into a cliff by some wicked sorcery — Mariko managed to slip down along an inner garden trellis and out to the servants' gates.

But today, she wanted to be _inside_, not out. Clambering down a thorny patch of vines would not help her much at the moment. There were several people wandering about in the halls; if they were not maids, they were guests, taking a friendly walk-and-talk session as they toured the entirety of the palace. As long as it wasn't one of the family's upper butlers, the ones that tended to drag her back to her room should they find her lurking about, then Mariko would be fine.

She could only hope that there were no butlers.

Or roving siblings. Those were disastrous to run into.

Voices in the hall ushered the little blunette back to her bed, where she curled up within a fortress of pillows. Carefully built so that she was hidden behind a wall of decorative cushions, this fortress easily maintained its shape whenever she ventured outside for the night.

It appeared that Mariko would not be able to take the hallway route so easily tonight. Still, the garden remained a possibility, as long as she snuck back in quietly. Though she was experienced with the outside route, it was a chilly night, and she wasn't too fond of catching a cold. Nonetheless, Mariko shoved her feet into a less worn-out pair of slip-on flats and considered her closet. She had not changed into her nightclothes, sneakily pulling the covers up to her neck when Sumiko came to check on her. Inwardly, she exasperatedly tried to figure out why they had to check on their thirteen-year-old sister. She was thirteen! Old enough to take care of herself, Mariko thought.

A jacket. Mariko wanted to take a jacket, but then realized that she would look oddly out of place wearing a jacket if she reentered the main foyer. She would have to bear the cold temporarily, then.

In that moment, she felt like the vigilante from the story, the one prince who saved the day and married a lovely Whirlpool girl. Then again, there was also the talk of the current society; a cloaked man, uncannily similar to the one from Mito's story, who did anonymous favors for the people everywhere and anywhere. _Hero_, they called him. The invisible hero. They all wondered what his true identity was, and what his purposes and motivations consisted of. Did he sneak out through the windows like she did?

The window, which she kept well-oiled, slipped open easily. Mariko, perched on a windowsill, stared out into the dark garden. Lit only by a few antique lamps, the shadows pooled around the flowerbeds and bushes. Mariko picked her way onto the trellis, which was so overgrown with vines that a few were creeping near her bedroom windows. Dropping to the ground deftly, Mariko surveyed the path.

Finding nothing — except for the fact that it was _cold_ — she continued on her way, weaving through the mazelike plot to another gate. Pausing, she realized that her footsteps were not her own; the eerie echo behind her was enough to stop her.

She had never been scared of her own home. She doubted she would ever find it to be that way, but at the moment, the skitter of gravel off the path and the silhouette of a person disappearing from the lamplight was terrifying. Mariko whipped around, backing up to the gate and hands gripping the metal bars. Suddenly, she thought it was the cloaked man from the story, slipping quietly through the night.

But it wasn't.

A woman was there, watching her with a bored eye.

"Lady Princess," she said simply, approaching Mariko. Now, had it been another woman, dressed suitably for a court night, Mariko would have relaxed. But this person was hooded, dressed in heavy cloaks and a dark shinobi's mask. Her stride was not hostile, but it was guarded; she had a warrior's walk.

"U-unmask yourself," Mariko attempted to order in a firm voice. She was horrible at it, and sounded like a crying baby goat, stuttering in somewhat of a bleat. Poor little princess, how tiny she looked right then.

"Of course, my Lady. I'd forgotten." And the woman tugged the hood off her head, and she was oddly familiar. Faded strawberry blonde, the hints of Uzumaki blood that once dyed her hair a bright red, and a kunoichi's stance, hands ready to whip out a thousand kunai. But at the same time, she was rather gentle. The sweep of her graying hair into a simple braid and the creases in her lined face from years of smiling, the softness to her hands that hid beneath the calloused palms. "I'm only visiting a distant cousin, is all. My greetings from the little humble town of Amethyst."

"Are you…"

"Risa," supplied the woman, looking as if she wanted to flip her hood back up. For Mariko's sake, she refrained from doing so, and strode purposefully over to the gate. She brushed past the princess and exited through the gate. Mariko recognized her; the medic nin who had healed Sumiko's ankle simply so that the First Princess could dance. The one that Ryouichi had gone through a great deal of trouble for.

"I—"

"Lady Princess," Risa cut off brusquely, "I would recommend that you go quickly."

The woman grabbed Mariko by the arm, seeming relieved that the girl was smart enough to stay quiet — or was just terrified — before pushing her towards the central halls.

"Wait a moment, I—"

The woman disappeared in a flash, and the sound of guards sent Mariko running wordlessly, heartbeat quickening. She reached the central hallway entrance without a problem, but the sight of a figure leaping from the a balcony above and flying to the other side of the courtyard took her breath away.

"West!" shouted a man, the familiar glint of a guard's badge and the length of his sword strapped to his side identifying him as one of the palace's own. He gestured wildly to the western side, where several more guards pursued the flying figure in the night. Mariko could only assume that it was Risa.

"Don't let her get away!" hissed another, like a menacing pursuer from an adventure novel.

Mariko ducked inside without even checking if anyone was passing by, and ran for the nearest wall hanging. The tapestry, as usual, was horribly dusty, but the blunette held her breath and waited. She counted out a minute, only daring to let a sigh of relief pass her lips at the count of sixty.

"Is there a game of hide-and-seek that we're missing out on, hime?"

Mariko froze. No, they couldn't possibly see her behind that tapestry, she was well-hidden behind it.

"Hime, the tapestry hardly covers your toes." The second voice, so sardonic and dry, was obviously Laren. The first, Anya, was docile but attentive. Mariko vaguely wondered why they were not with the Lady Mito, but instead here, observing the wriggling wall hanging with far too nonchalant an interest.

Abashed, the princess stepped out from behind the heavy, woven depiction of a black eagle shedding its feathers to become as blue as the sky behind it.

"Ah, there you are," Anya said. Mariko, as she had before, could not help but marvel at the woman's height. "Come with us. We're about to join Mito for tea."

She was also intrigued by the familiarity with which she addressed the Lady. In the Royal Court of Hurricane, these ladies abided by the formalities of their host nation, but when out of public view, they were completely comfortable with every member of the royal family, as if they, too, were part of it. That did not mean that the maids and butlers were quite happy with that — there were plenty that scowled when an Uzumaki or the other called Ryouichi the simple title of _ouji_ rather than his Royal Highness or Lord Prince, even going as far as to simply call "Ryouichi" with no significant honorifics of any kind. The Crown Prince himself did not mind; in fact, he found it rather endearing that they could be so close to a neighboring ally. Katsurou often voiced if this was some odd misconception of culture, but he, as well as Sumiko, accepted it as it was.

Mariko, too, did not mind. In fact, the Uzu women tended to call her _hime_ simply because she was an adorable little deer, a little girl who liked to wear fancy dresses. Mariko was not sure if this was offending or not, but decided to take it for what it was, because they never called her with any malice. She was, in the end, purely their little girl, everyone's favorite princess. Or, so she liked to think.

"Give me two reasons to believe that that brat from Kiri is a nice man," Laren had been saying.

"Brat?" echoed Anya mildly. "You're hardly his age."

"Nonsense."

"Laren," Anya scolded. "It's obvious you _like_ him."

The shorter woman spluttered incredulously.

"_Me_? Liking _him_?" She laughed raucously. "He's, for one, _old_, and secondly, he's got no eyebrows and the most ridiculous mustache I've ever seen!"

"I once heard that the most charismatic people don't have eyebrows," Mariko interjected.

"That's because _he_ said it," snorted Laren, rolling her eyes.

"And you seem to like these features, no?" pursued Anya, flashing a deliberately slow wink at the blue-haired princess between them. "He's quite charming. A people's person, really."

"Did you just say _charming_?" Laren threw her hands up, gagging. "I see nothing charming about him at all. He's an idiot, truly."

"Hush, you," replied Anya, rolling her eyes. Mariko glanced between the two women. Both had let their hair fall loose, and they were done up in such similar styles that if it weren't for the difference in hair color and in height, they could have been nearly identical. Mariko suddenly wondered if they were related. She asked. And then realized how silly of a question that was, because they obviously _were_ fellow Uzumaki clanswomen.

"We're first cousins," Laren said. "On my father's side, because my father is the tall one. My mother is as short as I am, though I'm proud to say I'm a half inch taller than her."

"Short is fine," Mariko said.

"I agree." Laren grinned.

Suddenly, both she and her taller counterpart drew their blades, instinctively taking up positions on either side of her. Mariko, startled, was ushered to the wall, far from the windows. One of them was open, the curtains fluttering in the cool night breeze.

"Get back, hime," ordered Anya, striding over to the windowpane and throwing back the drapes. No one was there, but she surveyed the scene anyway. She seemed to have spotted something on the ledge, however, that caught her attention. Running a finger along it, the tall Uzumaki woman frowned.

"Laren. Take hime to Mito," she called over her shoulder. "Now."

The shorter girl, reading the urgency in her partner's voice, grabbed the princess's hand and began running down the hall. Stumbling, Mariko did her best to keep up. The kunoichi set a decent pace, fast, but not so much that Mariko could not follow.

"Hime, we're heading this way."

And then they were flying down the corridor, going so fast that Mariko could hardly believe she was on her feet. The energy — _chakra_, she thought wondrously — was tangible through their hands, rushing through her body as Laren led her forward. It made her legs float and her feet fly; she was made of air.

They slammed into the central hall breathlessly, Laren automatically locating the Lady Mito within a split second of entering. Several guests looked their way.

"Mi—"

The upper windows broke, the fabulous chandeliers swaying precariously as a cloaked figured descended into the grand corridor. _She_ landed with hardly a sound, paying no attention to the shattering of broken glass all around her. The room went silent, all the guests frightened into wordless shock. The only royal in the room was Sumiko, and she was currently staring in horror at the woman by the window.

Shinobi drew their swords, but they were cut off by the entrance of a second figure, also heavily cloaked.

_A second person?_ Confused, Mariko found herself wading through the stunned people towards her sister.

Within an instant, the second figure — clearly a man, though a slim, agile one — approached the woman, so quickly that he was able to throw back her hood. His own was tied off tightly, obscuring his eyes and leaving most to the imagination. As expected, the woman was Risa.

She had the strangest smile on her face, lips quirked as if she had just heard the most amusing joke.

"Ah," she said, as if recognizing the other figure. "You…"

The man said nothing, only parried the rapid swipe she dealt with her short blade.

"Not bad," she murmured, if only to produce yet another knife and jab it in an underhand stroke from the front. The man nimbly leapt out of the way. He moved as if in some sort of cautious dance, on his toes, lightly. "If only," continued Risa, "we could see your face, yes?"

She made a grab for his hood, but he ducked and deftly sprang onto a table. He was so precise that he vaulted off the stand without ever spilling a single drop of the fruit punch placed there.

"You're that vigilante, aren't you?" she called, drawing the attention to this hooded man. _Vigilante_. The word was so familiar now, always in the back of the mind. "How bold of you to come here, the royal palace."

Still, the man was silent, even as a few Kiri nin surrounded him.

"I've a reason for visiting," she said loudly, even as an Uzumaki seized her by the arm. Risa never struggled, only watched the cloaked man with a glint in her eyes. "Do _you_, L—"

An arrow flew through the corridor and landed by her feet, silencing everyone. There was a collective gasp and turn to see the shooter.

"Freeze," drawled Katsurou, rather sardonically. He had not yet lowered his bow, right hand shying towards the quiver strapped to his back. "No pun intended."

"Our Lord from the Frost," said Risa all too cheerily. "How have you been, my dear?"

Katsurou skillfully flicked an arrow into place.

"Oh, Lord Prince, would you actually shoot me? Not when I can tell you who _that_ person is?" Risa nodded towards the cloaked man, who had dodged the trying hands of a few court guards.

"_Don't move_."

"Oh, but Lord Prince, you _want_ to know who it is, don't you?" Risa smiled, and in that moment, the crazed flash in her eyes sent a shiver down Mariko's spine. She backed into Sumiko, who instantaneously wrapped her arms tightly around her younger sister. "Or," chuckled Risa, "do you already know? _Do you know, Lord Prince_?"

Her smile crept wide, and her laugh was the most disturbing, witch-like crow. The Uzumaki man who had her by the arm failed to notice the knife slip down her sleeve until she had it at his throat.

"Cousin," she cawed, "Cousin, cousin, would you like to die today?"

"Seal barrier: Chains!" Several Uzumaki pressed their hands to the floor, and a series of golden, chakra-lit chains formed, rising up and locking around Risa. She didn't even try to dodge, only laughed. She laughed and laughed, caring not that the Uzu man slipped out from her grasp, dodging the knife at his throat as he crawled out of the chains surrounding them both.

"You make a mistake, cousins," she cackled. "You don't simply seal one of your own, now do you?"

With a vicious ease, she tore half the chains from her body, her own chakra interrupting that of the redheaded Whirlpool shinobi.

"But," she continued, "see to it that you seal _him_."

It was then that everyone realized the cloaked man was making a run for the unguarded corridor — everyone had swarmed away from the windows, and Katsurou's entrance and herded the guards towards the guests to help calm the riot.

Katsurou, unsure of where to aim, pulled his arrow taught, pointing at no one in particular.

"He'll be the death of you all!" screeched Risa. "_Death!_"

All at once, Mito ran full force into the woman, pulling her to the ground, and slamming an insanely powerful binding tag over her. At the same time, an arrow grazed Risa's shoulder, embedding itself near a few of the guests, but still with a wide berth. Katsurou immediately turned around and aimed at the cloaked man, but was not quick enough.

The man in the dark hood cast a glance at them, eyeing each of the royals carefully, before he disappeared into the wall.

_He disappeared into the wall_.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ A horseshoe of impossible light;_

_ your sight is your creation._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

The fact that a group of tribal warriors came at them with spears and flaming torches did not bode well the for the entrance of their group into Ishi. The leader hollered some order in a thick foreign tongue that none of them could really pick up. Immediately, a man to his left ducked away and whipped out a myriad of scrolls, from which he summoned chains and shackles.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Katsurou exclaimed, as the man tossed a chain over the wagon before anyone could stop him. The man looked up, face moist with his dark red tribal paints, and was startled when he made eye contact with Katsurou. Quickly, he looped the chain taught around the belly of the wagon, effectively trapping poor, immobile Prince Katsurou in the middle. "No one's going to help me?" drawled the blue-haired man sarcastically, glaring at the group.

Tobirama leaned an elbow on the side of the wagon.

"Nope."

"_What_ is going on?"

"I'm not very sure, Lord Prince. Why don't you sit tight for now?"

Obviously, the sardonic smirk that graced Tobirama's features was not appreciated by his future brother-in-law.

Ren, on the other hand, had brandished his sword and snuffed a warrior's fire by lobbing the end of his flaming spear off and stomping the flame forcefully into the ground. To Mariko's disbelief, the Hyuuga sort of just milled about as the Inuzuka dogs sniffed at the foreigners. (Technically, _they_ were the foreigners, weren't they?)

And then, to further baffle Mariko and her brother, Hyuuga Natsuki began _conversing_ with the tribe leader in his foreign tongue, which was all tongue rolling and thick, drawn out vowels. The leader, wearing the most elaborate hat she'd ever laid eyes on — a crown made up of a combination of gigantic banana leaves, ferns, and colorful birds' feathers — began to smile, and then turned to address his group.

"Apparently, we know these people?" Tobirama suggested quietly, rather bored with the ongoing negotiations. "Hyuuga."

"Yes, sir," said the Hyuuga, though the man's facial expression obviously conveyed that he believed Tobirama was undeserving of the _sir_.

"What," Tobirama asked, waving a careless hand at the tribe, "is this?"

"The local tribal clan from Ishi," explained the Hyuuga. "The Hyuuga clan hailed from a place nearby where they dwell, and thus our ancestors were allies."

"That's the most bizarre thing I've heard all day," Ren said snappishly, as per usual. He sheathed his sword and plucked at the leather binding, brow pinched in an eternal sneer. Mariko, on the other hand, only heard the words, sounds and breathes being tossed into meaning. She still marveled at the variety of vocal accents among people from different parts of the mainland. If Hashirama's voice was solid, then Ren's voice was airy. She'd grown accustomed to Konoha's speech, which was clear and simple, but Ren had the funniest tendency to become nasally, as if he was pinching his nose and staring down at them all. Not that she minded it; the northern mainland near the Frost had lovely accents — that is, until you reached Lightning. Mariko recalled a delegate that spoke in such a heavy drawl that she could hardly understand a word, propelling her to escape the pointless meeting she'd been dragged to with Ryouichi.

"And why is that bizarre?" challenged the Hyuuga, clearly mocking the way Ren left the end of the word hanging lightly.

"It's not worth saying, only thinking," Ren sniffed. And knowing Ren, it was going to be some biting remark on how such a refined clan could be related to these dirty tribes. But, in fact, they were hardly dirty at all. Rich with culture, Ryouichi would amend.

"Blueberries," blurted Shiro, as he hopped up beside Katsurou. "I found a patch."

"For me?" Katsurou weakly grabbed hold of a chain, now loosened, and tugged.

"Yep," said Shiro cheerily, cradling a gigantic banana leaf to his chest.

"I would be less surprised if the Inuzuka were related to these folk," Ren continued, stroking his chin contemplatively. Whenever he had that snarky, brooding look, he looked a lot younger, Mariko thought. She attributed it to his smattering of freckles along the bridge of his nose. They made him look like a pouty little boy. A snobby one, too.

"I'll take that as a compliment," grumbled one of the Inuzuka men, absently wiping a smudge of dirt from his clan tattoos.

"So, are they letting us in or not?" cut in Tobirama impatiently.

"And why are they trying to steal this wagon?" called Katsurou tiredly, plucking the last of the heavy locks from the wagon. The man who had thrown those very chains across the wagon came scuttling back, reeling in the metal with astonishing speed.

"I'm starting to wonder how they got such refined metals," grumbled Ren.

"I'm starting to wonder why you're here," returned his new bantering partner, the pale-eyed man with the tied back hair. Ren smirked, rather pleased with this answer.

"No need to wonder, Hyuuga," chuckled Ren, jeering. "Perhaps, before you wonder, you should _think_."

"I'm thinking plenty," replied the Hyuuga. "You, on the other hand…"

A raised brow and an inquiry to a friendly exchange of verbal blows. Katsurou, who was the usual opponent for irritable Ren, had retired on a sack of burlap, even more exhausted though he had hardly done a thing.

Meanwhile, the one tribe member pulling the chains into his arms glanced up. He was now wearing a wide, rice farmer's hat and a ridiculously heavy cloak for the weather. Mariko noticed that he had a good amount of jewelry on him. Some of it was just polished stones strung together in a traditional, tribe style, while others were precious stones neatly carved and set into earrings and rings. He had a large one that glinted on his left hand.

Seeing her stare at him, the man quickly dodged back to his leader's side.

"A misunderstanding," one of the Hyuuga translated. "They thought we were the recent band of looters that ransacked everywhere they went."

"How could they mistake that for us?" cried Mariko incredulously. They had a man wounded in a wagon, a bumbling, pompous, redheaded foreigner, a team of elite shinobi, and a girl with blue hair who was still trying to figure out why they hadn't sent her home yet. Dangerous, if one was a patch of blueberries.

"Better safe than sorry." Tobirama very subtly glanced over Katsurou, who had fallen asleep — "like a light," according to Shiro when Mariko asked — and grimly assessed what he could see of Katsurou's healing wounds. "Let's go, we're moving. Natsuki — what's the situation?"

"Nice to see you're not bossing us around for once, Tobirama-sama," she sighed, falling back with a hand resting on her belly.

Mariko added another to her list of harmless travelers: A pregnant woman — though she was one that could probably still beat ten men senseless with her bare hands. Okay, maybe not so harmless.

"Well, these people, the Hanya, are actually very welcoming. They just wanted to make sure we weren't out to steal their dragon egg, and that our wagon wasn't full of stolen cargo."

"Dragon egg," echoed Ren, sauntering up on the other side of Natsuki.

"Yes."

"So you mean to tell me these people are…" Ren made a face. "Loopy in the head."

Natsuki burst out into laughter; Mariko could see, by the rather conflicted expression on Ren's face, that he was not sure whether to be flattered (oh sure, he was a comedian) or insulted.

"_That_, my lord, is a metaphor," she snorted. "_Dragon egg_ is the name for their ancient forbidden jutsu. It's something like an evil possession jutsu that they sealed away long ago."

"That makes a _lot_ of sense," Ren growled, rolling his eyes.

"So, where are we going?" Mariko, who had abandoned her spot by Katsurou's creaky wagon, wiggled her way in between Tobirama and Natsuki. The ever graceful Hyuuga woman nodded courteously to her, before turning to spin a pointed glare at Ren. Mariko's brother-in-law folded his arms and glanced away.

Tobirama, similarly, crossed his arms across his chest and awaited the woman's answer.

"Well, they actually told us we can't go straight in."

"They _what_?" most of them said in unison.

"What do you _mean_ we can't go in," hissed Ren. "They can't stop us from—"

"Will you just _listen_?!" snapped Mariko, shooting her own glare at the redhead.

"Shorty, I didn't know you had a temper." She caught a glimpse of a small smirk play on his lips, and elbowed him as hard as she could. Tobirama snorted. "I thought it was all sugar and cream."

"Uzumaki habaneros," someone called over tiredly. "There's something like that in her recipe, Senju."

They all turned to see Katsurou looking rather delirious, waving his right arm in circles, as if he'd eaten something to induce a nauseous state—

"Shiro," called Natsuki. "Let me see what you just gave him."

"Am I in trouble?" asked the boy, frantically scooping up the remnants of the berries in his convenient banana leaf sling.

"No, honey," replied the woman, "it's not your fault. Did you eat any of these?"

"No, they were for the prince."

"Okay, let me—" Natsuki paused, staring wide-eyed at the berries.

"Those aren't poisonous, are they?" Ren asked, paling just a shade.

"No," Natsuki said slowly, "but they're actually medicinal herbs. They're numbing agents that basically…make you feel woozy."

"Woozy," Ren echoed.

"Do you have to repeat everything the woman says?" drawled Tobirama, eyes narrowed. Had Ren been a little boy, he would have stuck his tongue out at the white-haired Senju.

"Yes," affirmed Natsuki. "In a sense. He'll essentially be hallucinating."

"_Hallucinating_," Ren repeated through gritted teeth. Tobirama rolled his eyes before receiving yet another unnecessary elbow blow from a little blunette princess who still felt like being irritated for no reason.

"Shorty," he hissed under his breath. "Stop."

Elbow.

He caught it before she dug into the gap his armor didn't quite cover, and maneuvered so that she could only hit the blue chest plate.

"Anyway," continued Natsuki, "he'll be fine. In fact, it may dull the pain for him, so let's leave him be." She patted Shiro's head, and the boy sighed, in turn patting his dog's head. Kuro whined and wagged his tail as he trotted along. "They're not letting us into the north because there's a village run by corrupt officials, and they're selling young girls and boys as slaves in the slave trade."

Shiro and Mariko stared at the woman like she'd grown a second head.

Then, face pale and eyes wide, Shiro leapt onto the wagon beside Katsurou — "I swear, there were bananas in my pocket," he mumbled as he ran a hand through his bright blue hair — and hid inside an empty rice sack.

"They're _what_?" Mariko asked, not minding the fact that Tobirama's hands on her shoulders had instinctively tightened their grip. It wasn't that she felt unsafe, but more along the lines of security, instead. She was almost relieved to know that though she was not a small, defenseless girl — the Second Princess was as flexible as a cat, and even if she could not pack a punch, running and hiding were her weapons, in a way — having Tobirama and her family was more than enough reassurance.

"_So_," Natsuki went on, "they're leading us along the Ishi-Ame border, where it's safer to travel."

"So we're backtracking," Ren summed up.

"No," Natsuki corrected, "we're making progress. They know who Kakuzu is, and they know all the places that people like him like to hide."

Mariko could almost feel Tobirama smile. It was a sudden chill that ran down her spine. The sudden coldness was not from his fingers, surprisingly comforting on her shoulders, but from the absence of warmth in his expression — a shinobi out for blood.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Sometimes, I wonder if I really know who he is._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

At the mention of _Kakuzu_, the group had propelled their efforts forward so vigorously that even Katsurou was jolted awake, the two donkeys at the head of his wagon pulling relentlessly. While the animals sometimes stubbornly refused to cooperate, there were times when they also stubbornly refused to stop. A trait that did, in fact, work in their favor this time around.

The tribe leader said something to Natsuki, and she translated:

"Kakuzu and his gang like to crisscross between here, Ame, and Iwa. It seems he's taking a stop up in northern Ame, is their guess, and then going for Iwa."

"He's trying to make a loop back to Waterfall," reasoned Ren. "That's quite the detour, if you ask me."

"They're trying to lead us astray," Tobirama interjected. "They hoped we'd go for the so-called _corrupted_ city of Ishi."

"I think he's smarter than that," Ren said in a low voice, his expression dropping. It was then that Mariko remembered that if there was anyone out for blood, it was Ren. That, and she had to admit he was quite smart at times. Mariko herself just followed along, hoping that she'd understand the tactics of the man on the run.

Or was he really on the run?

"So it's a trap," Natsuki finished.

"No, it's not a trap," corrected Tobirama. "It's the lure _to_ the trap."

"I'm confused," Mariko blurted plainly. The shinobi glanced at her briefly, but other than that, they paid her no mind. The blunette pretended not to take offense when Ren simply continued detailing the plan, the reason of which Mariko still did not quite grasp. She eventually took to pulling bits of grass from the dry ground — the desert had given way to some sort of soft, grassy in between, with sparse stalks shooting up from the gravelly, arid soil up to their knees.

"And then we'll cut him off," Ren was saying. "From there, the team will use—"

Tobirama turned sharply to Mariko.

"Shorty, why don't you get your brother some water?" he asked rather arbitrarily. Nonetheless, Mariko stood and ambled over to a Hyuuga, who then pulled out a large water skin and offered it to her, knowing full well who it was for.

The donkeys were stopped for the moment, as they had taken a short break despite the group's new sense of urgency. Mariko found Katsurou staring off into space, rubbing his eyes from time to time. She tried — unsuccessfully — to ignore the glaring silver of his eyes, a color so starkly different from his usual green that they were hard to look away from.

"Thanks, Mari," said Katsurou, accepting the water skin when she offered. "How's our planning session going?"

"I think I was kicked out," mumbled the princess, hopping up onto the back of the wagon and shoving a half-empty sack out of her way.

"You think?" Katsurou raised a brow.

"Ren was talking, and then Tobirama suddenly told me to get you water." Mariko shrugged, uncomfortably readjusting herself against the burlap sacks.

"He probably didn't want you to hear the plan," Katsurou said bluntly. Mariko frowned at him, and he explained. "Ren probably has something bloody in mind, so he didn't want you to hear that."

"I'm glad the woozy berries have worn off," was all she said, not minding the bemused look he shot her at the phrase.

Katsurou's insight was sharp, and Mariko could not deny that her brother's maturity often trumped her instantaneous mood-dictated decisions. Sighing, she sat by her brother until he nodded off, and upon realizing that this "short break" had turned into a full-out strategy planning session, she slipped off the wagon to stretch her legs.

The afternoon sun bore down on them, and watching the patch of yellow leave an iridescent trail of light whenever she closed her eyes became quite mind-numbing after about thirty minutes. If anything, the sun had hardly moved, and she was roasting beneath the sun. For an islander, she was pale, but Mariko was sure she looked quite golden at the moment, if not sun burnt.

A dryness had crept up into her throat, and a couple of blinks later, she realized that she'd dozed off in her position, leaning against a thin little tree with broad leaves that led into a rather tropical looking forest. The desert was, strangely enough, just a little ways away, but Mariko felt like she was engulfed in a rainforest. But oddly thirsty.

The tribe was nomads was gathering various fruits and nuts, and the one man who'd attempted to chain their wagon — a useless, rather confusing effort — paused to glance at her. He was peculiarly familiar, but then again, Mariko was sure that everyone was familiar. After all, the shinobi world tended to introduce many of the same people back to them at a certain point.

"Do you know where I could get some water?" she asked tiredly.

The man, whose leafy hat was pulled low over his face, nodded curtly and strode away. Mariko sighed, leaned against her tree, and watched him go, inwardly wishing he would go faster. Mentally, she slapped herself for being so stuck up — the picture of a needy princess. Then again, in Hurricane, some serving girl or the other would have scuttled by with a glass of water in a split second; a luxury she had departed from before the summer had begun.

The man came back with the shell of a papaya filled with water. The papaya, which would typically have been soft after carving out its insides, was unripe and stiff, providing an elongated bowl to drink from. Mariko thanked him, and he stepped aside to continue his work.

He _was_ familiar. It was only watching him from the back that Mariko felt as if she'd met this person before.

_The heat is making me hallucinate_, she thought.

He stood tall, despite his tendency to shade his face from view, and his stride was long and regal. While the other members of the tribe moved with an animalistic grace, an athleticism that was part shinobi and part nature, if Mariko had to describe this man, it was…too formal. Too trained.

Sure, there were a few members of this tribe that were noticeably different. A light-skinned woman whose hair was like straw and spoke with a northern accent and was one of the translators. A group, presumably a family, with hair so red Mariko was tempted to think they were Uzumaki. Two men with skin browned by the sun and wispy silver hair, hailing from most likely Lightning. There were others, but they had olive complexions much like the main tribesmen, so it was difficult to tell who was an "addition" and who was not.

But they walked like shinobi.

How do shinobi "walk"? Mariko, after watching the life of Konoha pass her by each day, had realized that no matter what kind of shinobi it was — a girl from a noble clan or a regular boy trying to pass the Academy and make a living — they walked with strength. A confident stride.

But the man, now picking some bright orange fruit from the trees, he hardly took on the motion of a ninja. He walked like—

"Shorty," snapped an irritated voice, "I've been looking all over for you."

And here was a person even paler than she was, looking like a ghost against the darkening background of the sky. His lips were chapped and he was tired, huffily folding his arms against his chest and glaring at her.

"Sorry," she said simply, venturing to hook an arm around his. Tobirama relented, throwing the man picking fruit a quick glower before stalking away, Mariko trotting along to keep up with him.

"So," Mariko continued, "you were _looking_ for me?"

The Senju bristled; if he were a cat, he would've hissed with his ears flattened against his head angrily.

_Someone's in a bad mood_, Mariko commented inwardly.

"You don't have to answer, that's okay," she said sulkily.

"I wasn't looking for you," he said darkly, not looking at her, "_you_ were getting lost."

The fact that this comment made no sense at all just deterred Mariko from the conversation, choosing to mimic his silence because it was what he seemed to want. Halfway back to the wagon, he softened, shoulders slumping and a hand dropping to grab hers.

"That's not what I meant, Shorty, and you know it," Tobirama said, upon seeing her rather desolate face. Mariko frowned; she was never good at hiding her facial expressions, relying far too heavily on the traditional white paints to cover any sort of emotion that splayed itself across her features.

Surprisingly, he leaned down and gave her a light peck on the lips before stalking — if there was a shinobi that stalked, it was Tobirama — hastily over to the newly built campfire, where Toka was kneeling. Ren was tracing a figure in the sand, concentrating on the strategy meeting that still had not ended.

"Miss," said a low voice, accompanied by a hand that heavily clamped down on her shoulder. Mariko would have turned and screamed, but the smell of fresh fruit and a dark, wide-brimmed hat indicated the presence of that strange man. "Fresh fruit," he said lowly, nodding as he offered a basket of goods for the shinobi.

"Oh," said Mariko, still trying to brush off her initial shock. "Thank you."

She noticed, for the second time that day, that the man had a ridiculously large cloak on, not to mention that it was black. Didn't they live in the rainforest? In the desert? Wasn't he _hot_ under that? And while many tribe members wore jewelry, most of it handmade, this man wore the strangest jewels and trinkets, many of which just seemed to be gold chains and rings slung onto them.

"Excuse me," she called after him, on a whim. "Where did you get your jewelry?"

If he was at all startled or confused by the question, he didn't show it.

"Family," he grunted, as if unwilling to speak much. At least he was one of the translators, right?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude," Mariko amended, trying for a different approach. The gems that held his cloak closed were also very polished, finely cut and shining — she couldn't help just _know_ those weren't found randomly in the forest. She didn't quite think that he stole them, either, because he wore them outwardly with no reason to hide. "It's just that they're stunning, and I was curious as to where you got them. Especially the emeralds."

"Far away," croaked the man in a low voice. Mariko wondered if he was all right, given that he was rasping out his answers rather painfully.

"Far away? To the east?"

"Far."

"Many jewels come from the islands, see, and—"

The bands on his fingers and wrists caught her eye, only when he reached up to collect a few more fruits for the tribe. Mariko only saw plain woven wristlets and dulled, tarnished silvers, but the one on his left thumb was bright red and polished — painstakingly taken care of, despite the fact that he held his arm close to his body to keep it concealed.

"—a-and," stuttered Mariko, staring blankly at the ring. She glanced at the man, observing what little of his face she could see. His chin was slightly bearded and though he was hunched over in his cloak, his body was slight and long. He was quite tall, actually.

"Mariko?" called a weak voice. With a start, she realized that it was Katsurou hobbling out from the wagon for what he called a "revitalizing walk". "What are you doing? Is that a basket of fruit? Hey that looks go—"

All of a sudden, the man in the hat swept into a deep bow that neither had seen since they'd last stepped into Hurricane's high court.

"—good?" finished Katsurou, confused.

"My apologies, Lord Prince," said the man, "but it seems that the Lady Princess has found me out, has she not?"

Mariko stared at him incredulously, dragging her focus from his ridiculously Hurricane accent and the identifying ring on his left hand. He pulled off his hat, and the face of Lord Tetsuya — though slightly thinner with more pronounced cheekbones, and of course, a touch of stubble on his chin — revealed itself to them.

"Tetsuya?" Katsurou said, the tone of his voice so comical that Mariko was tempted to laugh. But she didn't. She stared at the man, no longer the gangly boy he used to be, despite growing into a long, slight frame that was so characteristic of him anyway. The noble boys of Hurricane were known for gathering in the royal court every now and then, and it seemed that Katsurou recognized the boy from Garnet instantly, if not by his ring.

"What—What are you doing here?!" exclaimed Mariko, so loudly that the strategists currently arguing by the fire turned sharply.

Tobirama stood and stepped over, looking intimidating with his height and cold eyes.

"Is something wrong?" he asked dryly, looking down at Tetsuya.

"Um—" Mariko opened and closed her mouth, somewhat like a fish. Tobirama was not amused.

"Senju, I introduce you to the Lord Tetsuya of Garnet, one of the largest commercial cities second only to the capital of Hurricane," Katsurou said, his voice practically empty because he was still trying to figure out what in the world a man from their homeland was doing here.

Tobirama raised a brow.

"Tobirama-sama of the Leaf," Tetsuya said, "it is an honor to meet you."

He stood then, but he hardly had any height on Tobirama. To the Senju, this was just a rough-looking boy, attempting to pass as an older man in a cloak and a hat.

"I find that your description hardly paints a picture," Tobirama deadpanned. Simply put, Tobirama could care less for Garnet.

Apparently, Tetsuya took offense to that comment, and he squared his shoulders defiantly. The two blue-haired royals stared, still awestruck, as one of their own stepped up to the shinobi without hesitation.

"I have to admit," Tetsuya said, "I've always been a boastful one." Smirking — an expression Mariko had never before seen on his rather demure court face — as he sized up Tobirama, Lord Tetsuya continued. "I like telling my friends that I was the closest to becoming the next Prince of Hurricane, if only a fire roach had not scurried its way into the capital."

Maliciousness flew off his tongue, boiled out of a conceited sort of jealousy that Mariko, for some reason, understood. Had she been less shy, her propensity for falling victim to her emotions would have borne her an arsenal of devastatingly sharp remarks as well.

Understanding registered on Tobirama's face, even if it was only a corner of his mouth dragging downwards in a displeased frown.

"I've nothing to say for the Fire Daimyo who likes to breed his roaches in peace," Tobirama said, "but to be honest, there is no merit in becoming a prince. At least, not where I'm from."

This left the rest of them to try and figure out what in the world he meant, because Tobirama hardly ever made sense when left to insult.

"I take that as an insult to my Princess," snarled Tetsuya, "_and_ my Prince."

"Whoa, whoa," laughed Katsurou nervously, "I'm not part of this. Hey Tetsuya, I'm married to the mainland too, remember?"

It was as if the young lord heard Katsurou's words in reverse: _The mainland is married to me_.

"I don't really think they mind," drawled Tobirama flatly, casting an exasperated glance towards Mariko. "I could insult your dear princess all I want, and all she'll do is give me _that_ look." He gestured to the glare that Mariko had summoned to her face, though it didn't give her much leverage in terms of power.

"Are you insulting the Lady?" challenged Tetsuya.

"Are you insulting _me_?" Tobirama returned caustically. His arms were folded, and the slight clenching of his sleeve under two fingers sent a vicious tremor running through the ground. Katsurou fell back to the wagon, looking nauseous as he gripped the harness of a sleeping donkey, startling it awake in the process.

Tetsuya was unfazed; at least, he pretended to be. Mariko gave him credit for not flinching the moment Tobirama's chakra sent a second shockwave large enough to make heads start turning all the way from the meager camp they'd set up.

"And here I was, taking _pleasure_ in meeting the great Senju Tobirama," sneered Tetsuya. "Should I take that back?"

"You'd better," Tobirama answered, jaw working as he held his temper. Mariko decided, after helping Katsurou to lean more against the wagon in a better position, that going over to Tobirama and hooking her arm around his would be a good idea. Tetsuya's face was conflicted for a moment, before he huffily grabbed his discarded hat.

"Lord Tetsuya," she said softly, "why are you here?"

"I am under the orders of the Aokami family's head, King Ryouichi of Hurricane."

Mariko's hands dropped from Tobirama's forearm, and Katsurou's head snapped up, silver eyes wide in disbelief.

"_Who_?" the blue-haired princess whispered, backing away until she felt one of the donkeys amicably nudge her with its nose. Mariko grabbed onto its halter, for fear of falling if she didn't hold onto something. Tobirama was instantly at her side, a steady hand on her elbow and the other around her waist.

"You heard me," Tetsuya said.

"No, no we didn't," Katsurou said, strength bubbling up inside him from out the blue. He promptly marched over to Tetsuya and grabbed him by the collar, hoisting the shorter figure up by a good foot and slamming him against a tree. "And you're going to repeat it."

"No offense, my Prince, but the mainland has turned you into a ruffian," scoffed Tetsuya. The level of insult was baffling, especially from a boy they knew to be polite and proper.

"I dare you to repeat that," hissed the Second Prince. Or...was that even his title anymore?

"I am loyal _only_ to Hurricane, sir," Tetsuya claimed haughtily.

"You—" Katsurou began.

"And the orders of King Ryouichi are final," Tetsuya finished, the leer on his face so wide that he looked like some demon in the night. Katsurou dropped him, frowning at the garnet ring that Tetsuya busied himself with, readjusting the gem aimlessly. He straightened his collar and slipped away wordlessly.

Katsurou turned to his sister. She walked up to him, slightly dazed, pulling away from Tobirama.

"Mari," Katsurou whispered.

"No," was all she could muster, because her mind was screaming _no, no, no_ over and over again. If not _no_, then _too soon, too soon, too soon_.

"Mariko," he said more insistently this time. She listened, silently, lips dry and fingers growing numb.

"Do you believe it?" she asked breathlessly, weak at the knees.

"It's my fault again, isn't it?" Katsurou said miserably, breaking away from the loose grip she had on his arms. "Just like Mom."

"It's _not_!" Mariko shouted at him, loud enough that several turned.

Katsurou, in attempt to be his old, funny self, turned and pulled the corner of his eye, sticking his tongue out. All Mariko saw was the silver of his iris, mocking as it reflected the moonlight off its slate-grey flecks of color eating up the green.

"I supposed he was—"

"Shut up, Katsurou," Mariko snapped, a hiding viciousness lashing out. "Don't say anything."

"Whatever you say, Princess."

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Momma._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

There were days when the ship would rock so intensely that she wished she could leap off the deck and swim home. But in which direction? Towards the mainland, where her brother and sister were?

Or towards Hurricane, where she had a brother who was only the afterimage of their father?

_He's different_, she insisted to herself.

But at the same time, he's not.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_ The infamous white letter message, I thought to myself numbly. It doesn't help that it's a Hurricane seal on the top, because that just means someone's dead. _

_ And, because my sister and that dumb brother of mine are traipsing off into the Sand Village looking for some monster of a man they'll probably never find, _I_ have to open the letter. Oh how joyously I shall look forward to it! Not._

_ It's bad enough sitting, for the most part, in the hospital. Mito is kind enough; she always has been. My throat is by far the ugliest thing I've seen in the Shinobi Nations, and I miss Ren terribly. Not only that, but there is a horrendous scar that runs down my collarbone and all the way to my last rib. Its hard and bumpy, the skin, and it terrifies me just to look at it._

_ Ah, the letter._

_ Someone's dead, and it's a fact I've been avoiding for the last thirty minutes as it sits next to me, unopened. It's a pretty ribbon, tied so perfectly that I know no one has taken a peek. The Lady Mito is not so insensitive as that, and certainly the Hokage knows his place. This is no ordinary message, after all._

_ I supposed I shall open it._

_ Maybe I'll see that it's actually a letter about me, announcing my own death. Wouldn't that make sense? No, just kidding, these medicines are just making me delirious._

_ I swear, if this letter gives me a paper cut, the hospital staff will feel my wrath, even if it isn't their fault._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

She faded in and out of consciousness, wondering who it was that carried her away from the waterfall, and who it was that sobbed pitifully for her as some hospital doctor took her.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_He's never really _been_ there for us, but he's always _been there_. It was like he saw it coming, the way he trained Ryouichi for the past — how many, now? — more than fourteen years, it seems. _

_ My father is dead, and my brother is king._

_ I suppose that makes Katsurou the Crown Prince, since Ryou doesn't have a family._

_ And I am the first to know._

_ You know, I think the hospital staff _will _feel my wrath, regardless of whether or not this accursed letter cuts me. One way or the other, I am angry and I am sad. There, I said it._

_ Mito better hope that she accidentally gave me too many special chakra pill and herbal drink blends, and the wrong ones, too, because I am certainly unwilling to reread this letter and affirm its existence._

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

One day, he would sit on that throne like he belonged there.

But for now, beside his baby sister, he was twelve years old and the best older brother she could wish for.

* * *

**_.x.X.x._**

* * *

_Dear Father,_

_ Words can paint a picture, but what happens when no picture appears?_

* * *

Late warning: includes mass amounts of "flashbackcharacters no jutsu!"

As in:

Does anyone even REMEMBER Risa?

I mean. Seriously.

(I actually have two Risa OCs now... one from KHR, lol)

Also: does anyone recognize the scenes that are briefly but pointedly alluded to near the end?

in any case

**HOPE TO SEE YOU SOON**

**HAVE A GOOD SUMMER**

_I will return..._

_(hopefully soon-ish?)_


End file.
